


Antivan Delight

by quiteanerdling



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Anitva, Antivan Culture, Assassins, Canon-Typical Violence, Dancing as Foreplay, Food, M/M, Rimming, Satinalia, Slow Burn, Tango
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2017-01-18
Packaged: 2018-07-25 22:56:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7550440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quiteanerdling/pseuds/quiteanerdling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Inquisitor Dust Lavellan is invited home to Antiva City for the week long celebration of Satinalia, her past presents new dangers the Inquisition must consider. Amidst the glittering parties and dizzying social intrigue of the Antivan social elite, Cullen and Dorian try to come to terms with their feelings for each other, while keeping their erstwhile leader alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Posición Cero

**Author's Note:**

> This (long) bit of fluff was written for the Cullrian Minibang back in 2015. I took it down a while ago with a lot of my other older work, but decided to put it back up because the Cullrian tag could use some love. This was written pretty quickly, and there's things I'd do differently now, but I'm posting it mostly as is, with a few minor tweaks. Anyway, please enjoy Antivan food porn, lots of dancing imagery, and a much more woobified Cullen than I would ever write in canon today.
> 
> Obviously this is completely written, but I'll be posting chapters every few days until it's done, because there's only so much of my old fic I can handle reading at once lol. :-p 
> 
> Oh and any errors in the "Antivan" are entirely my fault because I was in too much of a hurry to get it checked by any Spanish speakers. Apologies in advance.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cullen learns that his job is to stand there and look pretty.

Cullen looked down at the frankly ridiculous invitation that Josephine had set on the war table with a combination of curiosity and distrust. The velum was magnificent, the writing illuminated by someone of incredible skill, and gold paint glinted from the perfectly detailed scales on the drake in the Seal of Antiva. There were enough wax seals and ribbons on the bottom of the invitation to keep an entire litter of kittens occupied for a week, and the invitation smelled of spices, oranges, and salt air. It was written in Antivan, in a script so ornate he wouldn’t have been able to make out the words even if his understanding of Antivan was more than utterly minimal.

“ _El Carnival de Satinalia_? Really? At court?” To his surprise Inquisitor Dust Lavellan sounded as if she were trying to suppress excitement, her smoky voice slightly higher pitched than normal as she questioned the Ambassador. Her vallaslin lined face wore a rare look of open hope and excitement. It made her look younger than Cullen knew her to be.

“Yes,” Josephine replied with a bright smile. They seemed to share a budding sense of excitement. “Leliana and I thought the invitation might be coming, there have been murmurs amongst the Merchant Princes. The Inquisition has been good for trade - not only in what we buy ourselves, but in the calming of the mage and Templar fighting, and ending the civil war in Orlais. Peace makes trade much easier.”

“Unless you’re a weapons maker or an assassin.” Leliana added with wry amusement.

“In the chaos of war, every man may be a target.” Lavellan recited, as if quoting scripture.

“Though, speaking of assassins… we have some concerns about this invitation.” Josie tapped one of her delicate nails on the table in a small nervous gesture, glancing over to Leliana.

“There have been whispers Inquisitor. Whispers that there are some who would do away with the last member of the Court of Ashes.”

Lavellan’s face lost its joviality with frightening speed, replaced with something dangerous and dark. It was still strange to him, to see her go from the good natured Inquisitor to whatever dark creature had roamed the streets of Antiva City before she fled it to join the Dalish.

“There cannot be many left alive from that time. The leaders of the Crows never approved of the war against us in the first place, they were swift to eliminate their own, and I took care of the rest. What would be gained from reviving an old war between assassin guilds?” There was a cold calmness to her tone that sent a shiver down Cullen’s spine. Some days he wondered exactly what they had wrought when they made Dust Lavellan their Inquisitor. Or, perhaps, what Andraste had been telling them when She chose a (mostly) former assassin for Her Herald.

“You may kill the people and still not kill the idea, Inquisitor. Or the forces that bring such a group together."

“So you think someone seeking vengeance has somehow manipulated Antivan politics enough to get me an invitation to court for El Carnival?” The skepticism in the Inquisitor’s tone was obvious, and her facial expression matched it, darkness receding to whatever deep part of herself she hid it away in.

“Not at all, we believe that this invitation has come about quite naturally as your prestige has risen. After all, you _are_ the Handmaiden of Orlais...” Leliana’s smile became a decidedly wicked smirk, and Dust groaned.

“That is the worst title! Nearly as bad as Herald of Andraste. I’d like to slap the entire Orlesian court for that, starting with Gaspard.”

“From what I’ve heard Inquisitor, he might enjoy that.” Cullen said, doing his best to keep his expression bland, but unable to resist the urge to needle her slightly. He still hadn’t quite recovered from the news of Gaspard sharing a bed with both the Inquisitor _and_ The Iron Bull in the aftermath of Halamshiral.

“Cullen!” Dust exclaimed, voice torn between shock and amusement. He grinned at her across the war table and she gave in to laughter.

“Ahem, yes, be that as it may, the invitation is genuine. The Inquisitor, her bodyguard, The Iron Bull…” a slight pause for Josephine to compose herself over the very diplomatic title for the Inquisitor’s lover. ”... as well as her advisers, the closest companions of her court, and an honor guard befitting her station are all invited to attend upon His Majesty King Fulgeno III in the _Reales Alcázares de Ciudad de Antiva_ for _El Carvinal de Satinalia_.”

“Do I understand this correctly?” Cullen tapped at the overwrought invitation with a gloved finger, then pointed to Antiva on the map of Thedas, well and away from the safety of Skyhold. “They actually expect us to march Inquisition forces across half of Thedas in the end of Fall and cross pirate infested waters to go to a _holiday party_? A holiday party where we may, or may not, encounter assassins determined to have revenge against the Inquisitor.”

Cullen couldn’t keep the honest indignation out of his voice as he looked back down at the invitation in bafflement. “Has the king of Antiva gone mad or have the three of you?”

All three women stared at him as if he had sworn during morning prayers in the Chantry. Leliana looked genuinely surprised, which from their normally inscrutable Spymaster might as well have been a cry of shock. Josephine looked exasperated and disappointed as if he had insulted a particularly important noble. Dust looked positively horrified, her ice blue eyes opened wide, white lashes fluttering in startled blinks as her eyebrows arched toward her hairline.

“Cullen, _El Carnival_   isn’t a holiday party, it’s…” She seemed at a loss for words, turning to Josephine and making an entreating gesture.

“Commander, the Carnival of Satinalia is the single most important event of the year in Antiva. All of the most important contracts, alliances, and deals are made during the festivities. The last time I was home at one party alone there were three marriage contracts made, seventeen trade deals, two alliances between Guilds, a duel, and four assassinations.”

Cullen blinked.

“Four assassinations at _one party_ alone and you want to send the Inquisitor into this madness, right next to Tevinter with Red Templars and Venatori breathing down our throats?” Cullen liked to believe he was a reasonable man, but there were limits. He could feel his ire and his voice rising. “No, absolutely not. This is ridiculous!”


	2. Disociar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beauty (and chess) doth sooth the savage Commander.

“I hear we’re all to make a trip to Antiva City for Satinalia?” Dorian asked, moving his pawn forward a square, attempting to anticipate Cullen’s next maneuver. The Commander seemed to be playing with an unusual level of aggression.

“Yes,” Cullen ground the word out through clenched teeth, glaring down at the chessboard as if it had personally insulted him and all of his dearly held beliefs. He moved one of his knights, capturing a pawn of Dorian’s that left Cullen’s tower vulnerable. Cullen snatched up Dorian’s black pawn and squeezed it tight in his gloved hand and made a sound that could only be described as a growl. It was startling - both the sound coming from the normally even tempered Commander, and the heat it stoked deep in Dorian’s belly. He swallowed, looking back at the board to try and distract himself.

“I take it you aren’t eager to visit Antiva?” he asked mildly.

“It’s ridiculous! We’re going to take the Inquisitor, all of her closest companions, and dozens of troops marching across Ferelden in fall to take a fleet of boats through pirate infested waters and spend _weeks_ in a city known for being home to the largest guild of assassins in the known world! _And_ we’re doing it all for the sole purpose of spending seven days dancing, eating, drinking, and pandering to a bunch of merchant princes. It is a shocking waste of time and resources, not to mention incredibly dangerous.” 

Cullen grew more animated as he spoke, waving the closed fist containing Dorian’s pawn.

“For all we know this is a trap to lure the Inquisitor out of Skyhold and leave the fortress and our forces here vulnerable. The sheer _quantity_ of places we could all be summarily slaughtered along the way is overwhelming, and that’s ignoring the fact that Leliana seems to think this is all some plot by Lavellan’s enemies from before she was even the Inquisitor to get her in range of assassins!” 

Cullen slammed his fist down on the table, jarring the pieces on their chessboard, expression stormy. Dorian reached out slowly and stroked his hand over Cullen’s gloved fist, gently urging the clenched fingers open to retrieve his pawn. Cullen’s breath hitched when Dorian put the pawn down and then ran his thumb gently, soothingly over the other man’s wrist. 

In concession to the growing cold of autumn, Dorian had begun wearing gloves of his own, fingerless, fabric stopping at his knuckles so he could still make an easy physical connection with his staff while channeling. His bare fingertips had the advantage of letting him feel the warmth of Cullen’s skin, even through his own gloves. Cullen blinked down at where their hands touched, but did not pull away. He met Dorian’s concerned gaze, face softening into a rueful smile.

“I’m sorry, you certainly don’t deserve to bear the brunt of my frustration. I simply wish the Inquisitor was more concerned for her own safety. She seems to take it more as a challenge than a danger.” 

Dorian smiled at him across the small table. Their garden chess games were solitary affairs lately, as the inhabitants of Skyhold were beginning to spend more time packed into the warmth of the Great Hall or the Herald’s Rest, or whatever other room with a fire they could find. Dorian had begun to question his own sanity in agreeing to meet Cullen in the garden, and yet the draw of that scarred smile was more than he could resist. He was a very weak man, easily led by temptation.

“I suppose it would do little good for me to point out that our beloved Inquisitor is _herself_ an accomplished assassin? And that even when she lived in Antiva City and plied her trade, no one managed to plant any unpleasantly pointed objects into her?”

Cullen scowled.

“That’s exactly what Dust said - that The Crows were growing fat on their own reputation, and she’d see them coming a league away. Also that she had an army and some of the most talented fighters and mages in Thedas on her side,” his golden eyes warmed and he wrapped his own fingers around Dorian’s wrist, “I will, at least, give her the part about the mages, somewhat to my own shock.”

Dorian smiled. He knew Cullen’s distrust and fear of mages had been strong and deeply ingrained. He also didn’t think that their strange friendship was suddenly a sign that Cullen trusted all mages and gave them their due, but it was a step in the correct direction - or at least Dorian hoped it was.

“Did she also point out that she now sleeps with a giant Tal-Vashoth ex-spy in her bed, and can open rifts into the Fade at will? “

Cullen sighed and leaned forward, obviously no longer interested in the chess game. He set his elbow on the table, resting his stubble covered chin in the hand not currently stroking over Dorian’s wrist in an incredibly distracting fashion.

“It might have been mentioned” -a blush crept up Cullen’s cheeks- “in a somewhat more explicit fashion actually.”

Dorian chuckled. The Inquisitor shared his own rather wicked pleasure in making Cullen blush, and discussing her relationship with Bull was a surefire way to do so. The Commander had never quite recovered from walking in on them in an… intimate moment.

 

“Did she also mention that she’ll be under the protection of Cullen Stanton Rutherford, Lion of Skyhold, Commander of the Army of the Inquisition?” Dorian’s tone was teasing, his own smile going a bit wicked as he put extra emphasis on _Stanton._ Cullen groaned.

“I will never forgive Josie for giving the heralds my full name at Halamshiral. And I will someday find out who came up with that ridiculous Lion of Skyhold nickname and have them clean latrines for a month.”

Dorian laughed and leaned forward across the chessboard, reaching out to tap a black lacquered finger against Cullen’s forehead, making the blond grin. “Be that as it may Commander, I think Dust is right to trust in you. As much as it frustrates you to have to do so, I’m sure you will see her to Antiva City and back Skyhold in safety. And I, for one, will certainly do my best to assist.” 

Cullen smiled at him, eyes warm, the scarred side of his mouth pulling up just a bit higher than the other. He gave Dorian’s wrist one last squeeze and sat back in his chair, rubbing at the back of his neck. For once he didn’t look embarrassed or nervous, only weary. 

When had they gotten to the point that Cullen would let him see this side of himself? That he would share his concern about the Inquisitor’s protection with Dorian? Strange to think that of all the people in Skyhold it was the Tevinter Altus that Cullen shared his concerns with. Stranger still how much the knowledge of that trust made Dorian’s chest go tight and warm, a sweet ache inside him.

“I still don’t understand why she wants to go so badly. We could hold our own celebration if that was what she wanted. It would certainly be safer, and wouldn’t involve such a massive production.”

Dorian tilted his head, looking at Cullen inquisitively.

“Don’t you, Cullen? I think I understand it quite well. Dust fled her home and hasn’t returned in years. Now she is invited back by the king himself. She gets to go home, and to do so in triumph, surrounded by those who love and admire her. The greater mystery, my dear Commander, would be if she _didn’_ t want to go.”

Cullen looked at him intently, and Dorian marveled anew at the tawny, golden color of his eyes, fine lines beginning to carve their way into his pale skin. There were dark circles under them - the Commander worked too hard and slept too little. Dorian longed to see the man rested and refreshed. Most striking of all was the look of understanding in Cullen’s eyes as he met Dorian’s. He felt as if Cullen could _see_ him in a way few ever had - Felix, Dust, perhaps Rilienus- as if he not only saw the man Dorian was, but the man he _wanted_ to be.

“I suppose you’re right,” Cullen conceded, still looking at him with that addictive understanding.

“I usually am,” he replied, looking down at the board. “Besides Commander, if nothing else this will be the first opportunity I’ve had to be truly warm since I came South, and I cannot _wait.”_


	3. Abrazo abierto

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisition arrives in Antiva, and Dorian is reminded of the many benefits of warm weather.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My version of Antiva City is based on Seville, Spain, and "La Casa de Hessarian" is based (very roughly) on a real palace, the [Casa de Pilatos](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Casa_de_Pilatos)
> 
> Also, if you feel like taking a "tour" of Seville, [this photo stream on Flickr](https://www.flickr.com/photos/jesfarma/albums/72157625801951468) was my favorite eye candy and inspiration while writing this fic.

Antiva City was, Dorian had to admit, magnificent. Not quite as magnificent as Minrathous, but nothing ever would be. While the architecture was ornate, it lacked the overblown extravagance of Val Royeaux. Antiva City had a more reserved quality - buildings had graceful arches, latticework, and intricate mosaics. The pointed roofs, peaked at the corners and topped with spires even reminded him a bit of home. For all that the city was rampant with life and people, it was also full of wide courtyards graced with fountains and fruit trees, providing a brief respite and a reminder of nature. Lagoons and canals full of translucent, emerald green water eased their way through the city, carrying people and goods to the port.

Best of all, in Dorian’s opinion, was that it was _warm._ No need for the heavy furs and leathers they had worn to go tromping across Ferelden in late fall. Despite being on the cusp of winter, Antiva was awash in brilliant, pale sunlight against a sky of such a deep and intense azure it was nearly painful to look at. He could wear his lightest leathers without fear of his arm and shoulders freezing right off, and the air was thick with the smell of citrus and spices instead of mud and dogs. If it hadn’t been for the incredibly terrible bout of seasickness necessary to reach it, he could imagine wintering in Antiva City for years to come.

They had arrived a full fortnight before the Satinalia festivities were to begin. Ambassador Montilyet, in all her wisdom, had decided they should have time to recover from travel and prepare at their leisure before the marathon of parties and intrigue, for which Dorian was incredibly grateful. He was going to buy Josephine the largest box of chocolates he could find at the very intriguing bazaar they had passed through when coming from the port. They were being housed in a small palace known as La Casa de Hessarian, owned by one of the more powerful merchant princes, the Duke de Medinaceli.

Dorian was both darkly amused, and a bit disturbed, that a woman known as the Herald of Andraste was staying in a palace named after the Archon who had the prophet burned at the stake. Still, the comforts of the beautiful palace couldn’t be dismissed. He had been particularly delighted to discover that the majority of the guest quarters contained their own private baths, something Bull insisted was a remnant leftover from the Qun’s occupation of Antiva. Dorian found that a bit difficult to believe, but in the long run he didn’t give a damn as long as he got to use it every day of their trip.

La Casa, as the mansion was nicknamed by the denizens of the city, also seemed fairly defensible, essentially a massive walled structure surrounding a very large inner courtyard, which would hopefully help ease Cullen’s worries. The Commander was still feeling decidedly paranoid about assassins and plots, which considering the last major royal party the Inquisitor had attended, wasn’t precisely surprising.

Of course their dearest Lavellan had come out of that with the new Emperor of Orlais eating out of her hand, not to mention a new network of elven spies, so Dorian thought that on the whole things had turned out alright. Really if Antiva went anything like Orlais, they’d be doing quite well for themselves. Still, if Cullen wanted to be paranoid, Dorian would happily enjoy the appointments of their borrowed fortress.

He made his way into the very delightful courtyard that was sheltered by the high fortress walls, a rather clever arrangement. It was large enough to have a small, decorative orchard, a garden full of flowers still blooming, an outdoor dining room, several secluded nooks, and a large flat area normally used for dancing that they had given over to combat training. Since the garden and small eating area were empty, he followed the sounds of voices and fighting further into the courtyard.

Dorian was greeted by a very interesting sight: all the Chargers, and quite a few of the members of the Inner Circle had gathered to watch a sparring match. Dorian wasn’t sure whether practice weapons had been included in the caravan luggage, or picked up somewhere in the city, but Cullen, The Iron Bull, Cassandra, and the Inquisitor were fighting with replicas of their preferred weapons.

It took him a few minutes to figure out exactly what was going on as the four combatants faced off, two against two. Blackwall stood off to the side, watching intently and then called out “switch!” in a voice obviously designed to be heard, not just across a courtyard, but a battlefield. Josephine stood behind him, hands clasped, eyes gleaming with excitement. There was a brief moment of confusion, and then Cullen and Dust stood side by side, facing off against Cassandra and Bull. Dorian came to rest beside Varric, who looked as if he was dying to find a scrap of parchment to write on.

The mage couldn’t blame him - while the combat was no doubt interesting, their clothing, or lack thereof, was utterly distracting. In concession to the warmer temperatures of the North, all four combatants had stripped down to the bare necessity for modesty. Bull had chucked aside his harness, though that wasn’t all that unusual. Cassandra and Dust had both forgone their shirts and tunics, stripped down to the sturdy cloth harnesses that bound their breasts, though Dust’s was quite a bit briefer than Cassandra’s. The Seeker wore boots and simple cotton trousers, while Dust was barefooted and wearing a pair of Dalish style leather leggings.

From Dorian’s point of view, the most striking sight was Cullen, stripped to the waist, pale skin gleaming with sweat as his muscles flexed, scars crisscrossing and bisecting freckled skin and the golden blond hair on his chest. Like Cassandra he had abandoned his normal leather trews in favor of simple cotton, though he had kept his boots and gauntlets, no doubt to better grip the massive two handed sword he held in a guard position. Dust nodded to Cullen, seeming to exchange some kind of unspoken signal, and then Blackwall barked “begin” and they were rushing back through combat.

It became obvious fairly quickly that Cassandra and Bull would win, working better together than Cullen and Dust. Dorian watched with interest as Cullen went high, challenging Bull’s massive axe, and Dust slipped low, harrowing Cassandra. Dorian hadn’t had much cause to watch Cullen in combat, but he knew how deadly the other three were. The Inquisitor and the Commander did well enough for themselves, until a perfectly executed feint by Cassandra had Dust overshooting right into range of Bull’s arms.

Even though Dust was on his blind side, Bull got a huge hand around one of her arms, slinging her into place in front of him just in time to take Cullen’s sword blow to her exposed belly. Cullen’s face changed from coldly determined to slightly panicked and Dorian suspected from the bunching of his back muscles that he was trying to pull his blow. Unfortunately his speed and strength worked against him, no doubt as the Bull intended - the practice sword connected with an unpleasant thwack, doubling Lavellan over. Bull caught her other arm, holding her steady as she coughed and spluttered.

“You two need more practice together Boss.” Bull said as he held her up gently, stroking her back as she struggled to regain her breath. He didn’t seem the least perturbed to have put his lover in harm’s way, but then again Dorian knew how well Dust took to being coddled, which was absolutely not at all. Despite her pain Dust simply nodded, face serious. Cullen and Cassandra stood by, looking sympathetic, while the Inquisitor wheezed.

“Apologies Inquisitor, I pulled the blow as much as I could, but I was expecting to try and score a hit on your moving mountain, not you.” Bull chuckled and Dust gave a slightly green smile.

“Madame de Fer would you kindly check the Inquisitor over?” Cullen asked politely. Dorian hadn’t even noticed Vivienne, who was dressed quite casually for her, in a robe and leggings of eggshell colored linen trimmed with silk the color of the autumn sky. Her hand glowed with green light for a moment as her fingers hovered over Dust’s taut belly.

“There you go my dear, now you are quite ready to fight again. This time try to win please, Varric and I have a friendly wager on you.”

“No fair Madame!” Varric protested from beside him. Vivienne smiled archly and went back to the side lines. Dust shook out her shoulders, giving a thumbs up gesture to indicate she was ready. The combatants looked to Blackwall, who nodded and they switched partners. Bull and Dust together versus Cullen and Cassandra was a very different match, much more equal and verging on brutal as the two pairs laid into each other with familiarity.

Dust and Bull were a strange match, fighting styles and physical strength wildly different, yet they worked very well together. Cullen and Cassandra were like two sides of the same coin, moving in an odd tandem that he suspected came from years of similar training. It was eventually Blackwall who called them to a draw, instructing them to switch once more.

The final match was the most interesting of all. Bull and Cullen were a very impressive combination, all muscles and height and power. They moved well together, and Dorian had no doubt that in a fight against normal opponents, they would have left a swath of death and destruction behind.

The Inquisitor and The Right Hand were anything but normal - in fact they were _breathtaking._ Dorian had fought with them before, yet he had never truly watched them fight _together_. In the heat of the moment he was far too busy casting spells and keeping barriers in place around his companions. Seeing them now, against two sparring partners they had no need to hold back against was impressive, like watching a well choreographed dance.

The men held their own for some time, superior height and the impressive reach of their weapons giving them some advantage. Then Cassandra did _something_ with her shield that Dorian couldn’t follow for the life of him, and knocked Cullen’s sword right out of his hand before setting him on his well shaped ass. Meanwhile Dust did an actual _backflip_ out of the reach of Bull’s axe, making the qunari over extend on his bad leg and trip forward.

Cassandra, seeing Bull off balance did not pursue an attack, but instead crouched on the ground, angling her shield toward where the Inquisitor had flitted out of Bull’s recovery range. In a move that he had seen them use only once before, against a massive pride demon, Dust ran forward with that lightning speed of hers toward the Seeker’s shield, actually running up it like a ramp. With a final push from Cassandra, the Inquisitor launched off the shield directly onto Bull’s back. The force of her landing knocked Bull to the ground and her daggers came down to simulate cutting his throat with both blades.

There was a moment of awed silence and then Krem and the Chargers burst into cheers, the rest of the crowd clapping and laughing as Dust climbed down off of Bull’s back and planted a kiss between his horns. Cassandra, not given to such theatrics, simply offered a hand to Cullen and pulled him up, giving him a nod and a faint smile. Cullen grinned at her in return and Dorian’s heart beat faster at the sight of him, bare chested and beautiful, sweat-slick skin glittering in the dappled light of the courtyard.

“Sparkler, you look any harder and the Commander’s gonna have holes in his chest.” Varric grinned at him and Dorian just laughed. Perhaps it was the sunshine, perhaps it was being away from the whispered rumors of Skyhold and the disapproving glances of certain Chantry mothers, but it was hard to feel embarrassed by his interest in Cullen.

“Varric darling, I do believe you owe me a sovereign.” Vivienne said smugly, gliding up beside them and holding out one graceful hand. Varric grumbled but promptly produced a gold coin and set it politely in Vivienne’s palm.

“Alright everyone, show’s over. Let’s get cleaned up and eat. Dancing lessons will begin after the siesta, and I expect you all there.” Dust looked pointedly at Cullen who simply sighed heavily and headed over to a stone bench along the porticoed wall of the courtyard, where his discarded shirt was neatly folded. Dust, catching sight of Dorian gave him a wink and a suggestive little glance in Cullen’s direction. He grinned in return. There was no time for talk though, because Bull swept her up in his arms and headed toward the entrance to the inside of the house, followed by hoots and whistles from his men.

The others began to disperse. Blackwall offered Josie his arm, and Varric and Cassandra walked off together, bickering as usual, until Dorian and Cullen were the only ones left. He walked over to where Cullen stood, and watched admiringly as he stretched his arms over his head, making all the muscles of his back tense in the most gorgeous way. Dorian watched a bead of sweat make it’s way down the curve of Cullen’s spine to disappear past the waistband of his breeches. It had never once occurred to him to be jealous of a bead of perspiration before, yet there he was, feeling exactly that.

He shook his head and cleared his throat, trying to clear his head before his thoughts devolved into what Cullen’s skin would taste like.

“It seems as if you decided to start your dancing lessons early Commander. You and Cassandra make admirable partners.” Cullen gave a snort of derision but turned to Dorian with a smile. He sat down on the bench, leaning his back against the shaded stone. He moved his shirt into his lap and gestured invitingly to the seat beside his. Dorian sat down and settled back, careful to leave a reasonable distance between them.

“If I danced as well as I fought, I suppose I’d be less reluctant to participate, but as it is, I have all the grace of a mabari trying to dance the remigold.”

Dorian chuckled, Cullen’s tone was dramatically morose, but there was still a hint of a smile on his face.

“You know Commander, dance is very similar to the martial arts; the way you engage with a partner, the patterns of movement, the give and take, and the way you have to anticipate and respond to the movements of others.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Cullen admitted reluctantly.

“You move with grace in battle, I see no reason that you wouldn’t move with grace on the dance floor. Also I’ve _personally_ seen you face down an army of Red Templars and a dragon at the same time, yet you somehow seem more afraid of dancing than risking your life in the name of the Inquisition.”

It really was baffling. Cullen was handsome, intelligent, and strong - he was precise in his movements and despite his tendency toward awkward blushing and the occasional stammer, he had a certain rough charm that Dorian, for one, couldn’t seem to resist. Cullen was quiet for a moment as he looked over the empty courtyard, expression serious.

“I’m a soldier, not a courtier, Dorian. I grew up on a farm in Honnleath, joined the Templars when I was twelve. I haven’t a clue how to do most dances. Even if I did, combat doesn’t require me to make polite conversation with nobles who care for nothing but intrigue and scandal while the world is trying to crumble around our ears.” He sounded truly frustrated and Dorian suddenly felt guilty for enjoying the idea of his discomfort.

“I suppose I’m as willing to make a fool of myself as the next man when I have to for a cause, but you’ve seen how flustered I get around nobles. I’d rather not make an ass of myself in front of the entire Antivan court.”

Dorian had indeed seen how flustered Cullen could get - he had delighted in being the cause of that charming embarrassment on a number of occasions.

“Commander, I assure you, that your partners will forgive your lack of thrilling conversation in exchange for being held in your arms and gazing at your handsome face.” Dorian tried to keep his tone light and teasing, but he was afraid his voice might have gone a bit breathless.

Cullen turned to look at him, catching Dorian’s gaze and holding it. He looked very… intent. His honey colored eyes roamed over Dorian’s face, perhaps looking for signs of mocking. It would have been easier to hold up under that scrutiny if he _had_ been joking, but he was quite serious. Dorian hadn’t missed the absolute flock of admirers that Cullen had garnered at the Winter Palace, and he had no doubt that his statement was nothing more than the truth.

Dorian wasn’t sure what Cullen was searching for in his face, but he seemed to find it because he smiled at the mage. Dorian had never seen Cullen smile like that before - challenging, sultry, and yet still slightly bashful. The ability to convey so many emotions with one pair of lips should have been illegal.

“Well then, if you really mean that, than I’ll expect a dance from you during our lessons.” Cullen rose from the bench with a faint groan, placing his hands on his back and arching backwards. Dorian was still blinking stupidly at him when the Cullen grabbed his shirt and pulled it over his head. Not giving him time to recover his wits, Cullen turned and offered Dorian an elegant bow, holding out his hand.

“Lord Pavus, may I escort you to lunch?” Dorian stared, mouth hanging open with a remarkable lack of dignity, until Cullen’s face lost its look of playful sultriness. Quick to rectify his mistake, Dorian took Cullen’s hand, giving it a squeeze as he rose from the bench. Cullen’s smile reappeared like the sun bursting from behind the clouds.

_What in the name of the Void has come over him? And how do I make sure it lasts forever?_

Cullen tucked Dorian’s hand into the crook of his arm and they made their way toward the dark entrance of the mansion. They were going to be the subject of Varric’s latest book before they even managed to sit down, but Dorian couldn’t bring himself to mind.


	4. Salida simple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the plot, and other things, begin to thicken.

Cullen had to admit that Antiva, or at least Antivan customs, had some appeal. It was a shame there was no way they’d be able to introduce the custom of siestas to Skyhold, because he had to admit they were surprisingly enjoyable. An excellent sparring match, entertaining conversation with Dorian, and a delicious lunch made up of foods Cullen couldn’t understand the names of were followed by a bath in the incredible private bathing room that his borrowed quarters possessed.

Wearing nothing but a plush towel around his waist he laid down on the comfortable lounging couch that was placed in front of the latticed balcony door of his sitting room. Soon enough he’d have to report for the torture of his mandatory dance lessons, but they were keeping Antivan time, meaning he was supposed to be napping before hand. Cullen couldn’t remember the last time he had deliberately taken a nap instead of nodding off from exhaustion after days of drilling and planning and nights full of nightmares and withdrawal headaches. It sounded oddly enticing - he wasn’t sure if it was the warm weather, or simply being so far from Skyhold, but he found it much easier to stop thinking of the myriad responsibilities that usually weighed on his shoulders.

Even fear of assassins couldn’t seem to cause him very much anxiety at the moment. Sparring with Bull, Dust, and Cassandra had been very satisfying, even if his ass, and to a lesser extent his pride, was feeling bruised from the Seeker’s masterful shield bash. He was reminded of just how skilled the members of the Inquisition were in combat, and even with healing, Madame de Fer making short work of the nasty blow Dust had taken. The needs of the Inquisition and his post were still there in the back of his mind, but they seemed content to rest, lulled to complacency by the heady scent of spices and the strange flowers that bloomed outside his window.

Foremost in his mind, despite his best efforts, was Dorian. Cullen was still shocked at his own forwardness - obviously the unnatural heat of the Antivan fall was making him strange. Yet he had no regrets; it had felt incredibly right to offer Dorian his arm, to sit beside him at lunch as everyone passed dishes of delicious rice, yellow as sunshine, dotted with shrimp and sausage. Dorian had been particularly enamoured of something that Dust had referred to as coca antivana, a flatbread topped with caramelized garlic, onion marmalade, and roasted peppers. The idea of such food even existing, let alone combined together was strange to Cullen, but not so much their Tevinter peacock. The face Dorian had made while he was eating it, eyes closed in delight as he savored it, and the way his lips glistened as he licked off a bit of marmalade had left Cullen’s loose breeches feeling shockingly tight.

Now, back in his room, just thinking of it made his cock stir beneath his towel. Cullen groaned, feeling guilt claw at his chest. Was it right of him to feel this way when Dorian had done little more than flirt with him? For all Cullen knew, Dorian regarded him as little more than a brother at arms. After all Dorian flirted with the Inquisitor more than anyone else at Skyhold - the two of them had even shared a bed on occasion, and yet they were nothing more than friends.

While Dust was the wrong gender for Dorian’s sexual preference, Cullen wasn’t arrogant enough to assume that simply because Dorian was attracted to men it meant he was attracted to _Cullen_. Certainly their friendship had grown warm and comfortable, and Cullen was grateful for that, but he knew he wanted more. The question was, did Dorian? And would Cullen ever manage to get the courage to ask?

He tried, he honestly tried to stop thinking of Dorian, but his mind wouldn’t cooperate, insisting on flashing images before him that could only cause frustration. Dorian’s tongue licking his lips at the dining table in between bites, laughter in his eyes as he took a drink of wine. The smooth curve of the mage’s brown shoulder in his ridiculous leathers, the tantalizing glimpse of his chest that made Cullen long to run his fingers over smooth skin. Dorian’s nearly manic laughter as he faced off against an opponent in the sparring ring, each movement like a dance as he swung his staff, no magic needed to knock Cullen’s recruits on their asses.

Cullen’s hand strayed, as if of his own accord, pushing the fabric of his towel away so he could card his fingers through the dark blond curls at the base of his cock. It was fully hard now, a bead of liquid crowning the deep pink head. His breath caught as he slid his fingers across his slit, eyes closing as the pleasure radiated through him, images of Dorian continuing to float against the dark behind his eyelids. Cullen bit his lip, all too aware of the open balcony beside him, the possibility for any exclamations to slip into the ears of anyone wandering below.

Guilt fluttered in the back of his mind with his responsibilities and fears, but it wasn’t strong enough to hold back the pleasure building in him as he began to tug on his prick in earnest, imagining a darker hand touching him, the brush of perfectly groomed facial hair against his skin. He gave himself up to it, a rising and sudden tide of want that built and built, racing to a peak. He clenched his teeth, the need for silence the only caution he could remember as he tipped over the peak, orgasm rushing through him at the image of Dorian’s clever tongue on his skin.

He lay back breathless for a few minutes, mind blank, body languid with warm air and the aftermath of his pleasure. Eventually he wiped the spend from his hand and belly with his towel before slipping into slumber, his mind still full of images of Dorian.

* * *

La Casa had a ballroom of significant size. Couches were carefully arranged around the room to provide seating for guests, but for the Inquisition’s purpose some of them had been pulled together to form a half circle where everyone could watch the dance instructor, who was consulting with Josephine and Dust in rapid fire Antivan. Cullen eyed the man with distrust as he sat in a plush armchair watching the preparations.

The instructor was young, and very obviously _not_ accustomed to catering to the nobility. He wore a strange outfit, skin tight black leather pants, a loose white shirt, and a strangely short black jacket, fraying around the edges, but obviously once of good quality. It was trimmed with silver embroidery and buttons down the straight lapels of each side. A black leather belt, ornately decorated with silver skulls, was wrapped around his slender hips, holding a rapier with an incredibly elaborate basket hilt. His soft boots were low, just over the ankle, a rich, wine red suede. His long hair, red as sunset, was pulled back into a messy bun, and his startling turquoise eyes flitted around the room a bit too intensely.

“I have two sovereigns that say the instructor will be in Dust and Bull’s bed before we leave to return to Skyhold.” Cullen nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of Dorian’s voice so close to his ear. The mage had come up right behind him while he was focused on the dance instructor and Cullen hadn’t even noticed. That did not bode well for his ability to protect the members of the Inquisition from hidden danger. He realized he was scowling silently when Dorian pulled away from him, lips tightening slightly, grey-blue eyes going distant and shuttered.

“I didn’t mean to offend, I’ll just take myself off.” Dorian turned to leave and Cullen reached out, grabbing his wrist.

“Dorian wait, no, don’t go, I wasn’t scowling at you, I apologize.” That earned him a raised eyebrow and a skeptical look, but Dorian didn’t try to shake off his hand.

“Really.” Dorian said, voice heavy with sarcasm. “I suppose there was someone else standing directly behind me that I somehow missed?”

“I was scowling at myself. You caught me by surprise and I should be more attentive to potential danger. I’m sorry, what were you saying?” Dorian smirked at him and Cullen didn’t mind at all, simply relieved he hadn’t driven him off. He looked down at where his hand wrapped around Dorian’s wrist, the same hand that had so recently been wrapped around his cock, and felt his cheeks begin to burn. Ignoring the roil of guilt and embarrassment in his belly, he kept his hand on Dorian’s wrist and gently pulled him down to sit on the wide arm of his chair. Once Dorian was seated Cullen withdrew his hand, hoping desperately that he wasn’t overstepping his bounds or making Dorian uncomfortable.

“I was offering you a wager, dear Commander. I do believe our new dancing instructor is likely to find himself falling into the Inquisitor’s bed, potentially as a Satinalia present for our erstwhile Iron Bull.” Dorian’s voice was low and demure, but he flicked a glance at The Bull, who was leaning against the wall, chatting laconically with Krem while watching the Antivans converse. His expression was a bit predatory, but with Bull that could mean any number of things. Cullen looked back to Dust and the instructor, who he realized was standing far closer to her than politeness warranted. Josie was looking slightly bemused, and Lavellan was wearing that inscrutable face she got when she was considering a complicated problem.

“Hmm…” He said, considering. He absolutely should _not_ be betting on the Inquisitor’s sex life. He shouldn’t even be _thinking_ about the Inquisitor’s sex life. That was a good way to end up lying sleepless in bed while the thought ‘how in the Void does it _fit_?’ went flitting through his mind in an endless loop. There was some precedent, after all, but that had been a Grand Duke, not some pretty little Antivan dancer. Cullen was fairly convinced the Inquisitor’s royal _menage a trois_ had been a surprisingly shrewd political maneuver rather than a matter of pure pleasure.

Still, Dorian was looking awfully smug, and Cullen had a strong urge to wipe the little smirk from the mage’s full lips. He would much rather do it with a kiss, but a wager would do. A sudden plan occurred to him, and he acted on it before he could lose his nerve.

“I’ll take your wager, but not for sovereigns. I have something else in mind as a prize.” The smirk disappeared from Dorian’s face and he blinked down in surprise at Cullen, his gaze becoming wary. “I’ve no particular need for your sovereigns. I’d prefer your company instead. If I win, you join me for dinner, just the two of us.”

Cullen’s heart was beating so fast he might as well have just run a race. Adrenaline surged through him and his stomach churned, hoping desperately he hadn’t just destroyed his friendship by being too forward.

“Why Commander, how _delightfully_ forward of you.” Dorian was grinning at him, white teeth flashing. “I accept that, but must set the terms of my own reward. If I win, and I assure you, I am going to, then you will dance the tango with me at the royal palace for the final Satinalia ball.”

Cullen felt his eyes go very wide, and Dorian leaned in a bit so that their faces were only a few scant inches apart.

“I promise you I will be a very _stimulating_ dance partner.”

Cullen swallowed convulsively, knowing he was beet red and trying desperately to make his mouth work.

“Done.” One word was all he could manage, but it seemed to be enough, because Dorian pulled back and sat on the arm of the chair again, looking at Cullen as if he was seeing him for the first time. Dorian opened his mouth to say something else, but then Dust turned to address the assembled members of the Inquisition, and the moment was lost.

* * *

Dorian wanted nothing more than a few quiet moments to himself to try and grasp what had just taken place between him and Cullen, but he was not going to get it. Instead, he was left blinking at Dust, Josephine, and the dance instructor, who looked more like a matador than a dancer. He was certainly very pretty with his red hair, golden skin, and bright eyes. In another time and place Dorian might have tried to have a taste himself, but instead he was trying to decide whether he wanted to win or lose his bet about the Inquisitor and Bull.

“Everyone, this is Zigur Oroitz, he’ll be teaching you. Josie and I will be his assistants today. He claims his common is terrible so I’m also translating for him.” Dust cut an amused look at the young dandy, who was ignoring her in favor of examining his fine hands, a carefully cultivated picture of disinterest. “Personally I think he’s just fucking with us, but that’s fine, I can play translator.”

The reactions were different depending on the members of the Inquisition, from Bull’s hearty laughter, to Solas’s exasperated scowl. Dorian’s attention remained on Zigur, who had a small smirk on his face as he looked at Dust from under long eyelashes of dark auburn. Oh yes, this one wanted very much to get himself in trouble, and he had decided the Inquisitor was just the way to do so. Dorian wondered when the pretty dancer would realize that he had bitten off far more than he could chew.

Zigur, apparently deciding he wasn’t going to rise to Dust’s bait, began to speak in rapid fire Antivan. Dorian spoke very basic Antivan, and could understand a bit more, but Zigur’s accent and speech style were so strange that he was hopelessly lost in moments. Even Josie looked a bit confused.

_“There are two types of tango in Antiva - there is the tango as the nobles dance at court, and then there is real tango, the way we dance it in the Upper City. We dance it the way it was meant to be danced, not the way the shems do it now that they have taken it for their own.”_ Dust translated.

Dorian’s eyebrows came together at a human using the Elvhen term. He looked a bit more closely and noticed Zigur’s ears, though small and mostly round, were slightly pointed at the tips. Elf blooded perhaps? Wasn’t that interesting.

_“The nobles, they make the man lead, and the woman must follow, but that’s not what tango really is. It is a power struggle, it doesn’t matter if it is man and man or woman and woman, or man and woman, it is who is willing to take control, and who is willing to submit. It is not gentle lovemaking like in a maiden’s storybook, it is fucking up against a wall until you cannot stand anymore.”_

Zigur looked directly at Dust as he spoke, and as she translated. Oh yes, Dorian would definitely be winning his bet. Josephine gave a horrified gasp and covered her mouth. There was a giggle from Sera, another chuckle from Bull, and Cullen…

Cullen was bright red, blush extending down his neck and across the bit of chest visible behind the wide v of his shirt’s neckline. One hand was gripped into a tight fist on his thigh, and the other was squeezing the arm of his chair for dear life. He was looking down at the floor, as if the pattern of the hardwood parquetry was the most incredible thing he had ever seen. Dorian couldn’t decide whether to pat him on the head to comfort him, or to try and find a wall to fuck him against.

“ _I will show you first the way the nobles dance. For those of you who do not know the steps, you will attend._ ”

Zigur stopped devouring Dust with his eyes long enough to turn to Josephine, executing a perfect, courtly bow, every line precise. When he asked Josephine in perfect High Antivan to dance, Josie blinked and blushed, and Dorian needed no translation. The musicians he had taken notice of earlier begin to play, a guitar and some kind of percussion providing a simple melody. From the quality of their clothes, it was fairly obvious they came with the instructor.

The tango was always more suggestive than other dances; the waltz, for all its close holds, did not quite match the tango in sensuality. Even in the open embrace there was a suggestion to the lines and movements. Josie was a good partner, following well, her legs adding lovely flourishes when the moves called for it. Zigur kept their movement across the floor simple and straightforward, something that an inexperienced dancer could learn with practice and a bit of patience.

The music finished and there was polite applause. Zigur bowed respectfully to Josephine, the picture of propriety. Dorian was beginning to wonder if perhaps he would lose the bet after all; perhaps the redhead was all talk. Still, dinner with Cullen alone wasn’t a hardship in the least, in fact, Dorian won even if he lost. Perhaps that would even be better, without the prying eyes of Antivan nobility all over them.

_“Now, I will show you the real tango.”_ Dust raised her eyebrows at Zigur as she translated, and Dorian recognized the look. He’d seen her wear it before kicking a man in the face, or else laughing and shaking someone’s hand. It was a face that clearly indicated one should proceed with caution - Zigur didn’t seem the least put off, which showed a remarkable lack of sense, or possibly self preservation. He made a gesture over his shoulder at the musicians and the music this time was faster, and with a much more powerful beat. He reached out for Dust’s hand and pulled her into a close embrace, their chests pressing against each other, his leg thrust between hers.

Cullen stiffened beside him, obviously considering intervening at the show of disrespect. But then Dust smiled and there was a very feral edge to it. She said something too low for Dorian to hear and tapped the hilt of the instructor’s rapier. He laughed and released her, making short work of his belt buckle, removing the whole overwrought monstrosity. It was amusing right until Zigur marched up to Dorian and held the whole thing out to him.

“Hold this.” The man was right, his accent was so thick that without the accompanying hand motion Dorian might not have figured it out. Or perhaps that was simply indignation at the very idea slowing down the processing of words. Dorian took the rapier and belt, surprised by their weight, and Zigur immediately turned back to Dust, who shook her head and rolled her eyes, obviously not impressed.

“Why that arrogant little-” Cullen’s voice was not low, but Dorian decided to be amused instead of offended, lest things get out of hand.

“Shhh, it’s fine.” He said, patting the Commander’s shoulder. “Besides, I prefer a man with a two handed weapon any day.”

Cullen gave a choked laugh and sat back in his chair as Zigur once more pulled Dust into his arms and began to move. This version of the tango was to the one he danced with Josie as a full fledged enchanter to an apprentice. Zigur lead, but only barely - Dust made him work for every pace they took across the floor, body taut and movements challenging. Where Josephine’s flourishes had been delicate and demure, designed to show off the shape of a woman’s leg, Dust’s were blatantly sexual. Dorian’s eyes widened when her leg kicked up until it rested on Zigur’s shoulder, and he held her so close that the mage expected Bull to object. Instead Zigur kept his hand on her thigh, walking backwards, pulling her in a position that should have looked ridiculous, but instead managed to look both graceful and sexual.

With a smile he shifted, picking her up into a lift, then dipping her down until her head nearly touched the floor. For a strange moment Dorian though he saw something pass over Zigur’s face, something violent and angry, and then it was gone and the redhead was lifting Dust back up with a flourish of his own.

And that was when things truly became interesting, because apparently Dust had decided to take the lead. With a maneuver that Dorian recognized from the sparring ring, she knocked the instructor’s legs out from under him, catching him gracefully in a dip of her own, and that feral smile was back on her face.

Zigur looked surprised, but didn’t struggle, easily shifting into the mode of the follower, and like Dust, he made it a challenge. The Inquisitor’s body language changed, and there was a kind of warning in it - all the power and authority she kept leashed when not sitting on her throne or negotiating with nobility came to the fore. Her back straightened, arms holding and framing the slender, elf blooded man. For all that he topped her height by a good four inches, they looked completely natural, and Dorian was reminded of her infamous dance with Florien at the Winter Palace. A shiver went down his spine. He could almost taste the undercurrents in their dance, but he didn’t understand them, and it made him slightly nervous. He clutched at the sheath of the rapier, shoulders tense. He felt a hand pat his leg just above the knee, and looked down to see Cullen looking up at him with concern.

The heat of Cullen’s hand on his leg and the warm concern in his tawny eyes combined to grip Dorian’s attention, distracting him from the dance. It took every ounce of willpower he had to resist the urge to slide into Cullen’s lap and kiss him breathless. The strange thing was, more and more he was beginning to wonder if Cullen would even object.

_Dorian Pavus what in the name of the Maker do you think you’re doing?_

From the way his heart beat faster as he looked at Cullen, and the way he could feel his whole body yearning toward the other man, he had a terrible suspicion that the answer was “falling head over heels in love with Commander Cullen Rutherford.”

Clapping and the raucous cheers of the Chargers pulled his attention back to the dance floor, where the music had ended, and Dust held Zigur by his well muscled thigh, the dancer’s other leg gracefully extended along the floor as he looked up at her in what seemed to be surprise. She smirked and with an easy motion righted them both, giving the redhead a wink.

“Well Commander,” Dorian said, trying to keep his tone casual. “I do believe it’s time for our dance lessons.”

He stood and held the belt and rapier out to Zigur with a look of disdain. Turquoise eyes narrowed and Dorian felt a prickle of something at the back of his neck, but Dust diffused the moment by reaching out and taking the belt from him. Refusing to be distracted by some half feral hooligan, Dorian turned his back to the Inquisitor and her partner, offering his hand to Cullen in an imitation of the Commander’s earlier gallant gesture.

“Would you care to join me on the floor, ser?” He asked.

Cullen looked at his hand, and then shot a skeptical glance at the dance floor, where the others were beginning to gather to be paired off. Then he shrugged his broad shoulders and took Dorian’s hand, grinning as he rose to his feet.

“I’d be honored Lord Pavus.”

Dorian was beginning to think he was never going to want to leave Antiva again.


	5. Caricias

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cullen continues to learn WAY MORE about the Inquisitor's sex life than he's comfortable with.

It took three days for Dorian to win the bet. Cullen was an early riser, and with dance lessons and the even more horrifying descent of an army of seamstresses, tailors, mask makers, haberdashers, and some other people he had no hope of identifying on the their borrowed palace, the morning was the only time he had to train. Bull had been joining him in the early morning practices, so Cullen made his way quietly down the hall to the large bedroom the Inquisitor and her lover had claimed.

He never had a chance to knock, because the door opened wide, and Cullen once again found himself seeing far more of the Inquisitor’s sex life than he needed to. Bull was looking over his shoulder and chuckling as he opened the door, leaving room for Cullen to get an eye full of a large, rumpled bed. Zigur was standing at the end of it, wearing the same clothes he had had on the evening before, holding a very naked Inquisitor Lavellen up by her well rounded backside, tattooed brown legs wrapped tight around his waist as they kissed deeply.

“Oh Maker’s breath!” He moaned, covering his face with his hands. At least it wasn’t Bull naked this time. Not that The Bull looked bad naked, just… intimidating.

“Hey Cullen, ready to train?” Cullen nodded, keeping his eyes covered. He heard Dust give a low, breathless laugh.

“Bull close the door before poor Cullen has an aneurysm from blushing.” Dust instructed. Zigur said something in Antivan that Cullen was deeply grateful he couldn’t understand, because it was followed by the sound of a body very obviously falling back onto the bed and another low laugh from the Inquisitor.

“Yes, please close the door Bull.” He begged. Bull laughed and did as instructed, hefting his practice weapon over his shoulder. He gave Cullen a friendly slap on the back, and Cullen let his hands drop from his face, though he suspected his blush would be there for the rest of the day. The walked in silence down the hall toward the doors to the courtyard.

“Cullen, I can practically see all the questions jumping around in your head. Just ask, you aren’t going to offend me, I’m not shy.” Bull chuckled at the idea.

“I apologize, it isn’t my business and I don’t wish to pry.” Bull was right though… his mind was swimming with questions, some of them extremely logistical, and he was fairly certain he didn’t want the answer to those.

“It’s not prying if I offer.”

_Hmm… well that’s a point._

“Don’t you get… jealous? I mean, you just left your lover naked with another man in her bed, and that doesn’t bother you?” He knew he sounded like a confused child, but it was simply hard for him to conceive of. He didn’t think he could share Dorian. Well not that Dorian was _his_ , but if he found Zigur with a different set of brown legs wrapped around his waist… Cullen lost the pattern of his thoughts as he pictured Dorian naked with his legs wrapped around his own waist.

“Nah, jealousy isn’t really my thing. I mean, it’s not like I wasn’t in on the fun. I could always skip practice and just go back and join them, but I’m not going to begrudge Dust a little fun. For now her bed is my bed, and I’m staying there as long as she wants me in it, and I _like_ sharing.”

Cullen wouldn’t have thought it possible for his cheeks to grow any hotter, but something in Bull’s deep, growling tone made his blush intensify.

“The way I see it,” The Iron Bull continued. “We’ve got Venatori assholes, Red Templars and demons and shit crawling out of the woodwork, and that dick Corypheus trying to take over the whole fucking world, so better enjoy what I’ve got while I’ve got it, rather than worrying about what might happen down the road.”

The walked in silence again for a few moments after that as Cullen considered Bull’s words. The mercenary was right - they were all in grave danger, all of Thedas was. They might all be living on borrowed time, wouldn’t it be better to embrace the possibilities he had while they were available?

“Plus shit Cullen, _redheads_!”

Cullen laughed and made his way into the sunlight of the courtyard. He certainly had a great deal to think about.

* * *

“Apparently I owe you a dance at the palace.”

Dorian looked up from the book of Antivan poetry he had found in the mansion’s library and blinked up at Cullen. It took his brain a moment to shift from Antivan to common and then to understand the implications of the Commander’s statement.

“Ha, and here I was beginning to think perhaps our young lovers were losing their taste for adventure!”

Dorian shifted his legs off the settee he had taken over, gesturing for Cullen to join him. He had been waiting in the parlor given over to the tailors for a good quarter of an hour while they poked and prodded at Blackwall, who looked mutinous. Josephine had sent all of their measurements ahead to Antiva, along with instructions on the style of finery all of them were to wear for the week of Satinalia. Dorian had been nervous at first, but it was obvious that Vivienne and Dust, who had surprisingly good taste, had been involved in setting the tone of the designs. As with Halamshiral they were all to be attired in the same colors, with complementary fabrics and different designs.

“No, they have apparently retained their taste for adventure, and in Bull’s case, redheads.” Cullen was, unsurprisingly, blushing a lovely rose color, but his scarred lip was pulled up in an undeniable smirk. “I’m afraid I am destined to know a great deal more about Lavellan’s sex life than I ever wanted to. I had no idea her tattoos were that… extensive.”

“Poor Commander, forced to look at a naked woman were you?” Dorian laughed and patted Cullen soothingly on the shoulder. He tried not to enjoy the feel of hard muscle under his hand.

“Well the dance instructor managed to cover up the strategic bits since she was wrapped around him like a rashvine.” Cullen’s tone was quite dry, but the smirk stayed firmly in place. Dorian couldn’t help a touch of curiosity.

“So I take it this means you wouldn’t want to be invited to join them for… shall we call it a special War Room meeting?” His tone was sly but he watched Cullen closely. He had assumed, at the beginning, that Cullen had a bit of a crush on Dust, but her taste obviously ran to something a bit more exotic than dashing young Templars.

“What?” Cullen asked, looking delightfully confused for a moment, then his eyes widened. “Oh! Oh no! Absolutely not. That would be…” He trailed off, but the blush crept down his cheeks and onto his neck.

“Not that they aren’t both attractive, in their way, but it would make serving the Inquisitor as her Commander unbearably awkward. Plus, I’m afraid I’m not one for sharing.” Dorian felt a fluttering in his stomach as Cullen looked him directly in the eyes, his gaze serious. “If I were to take a lover I would want to be able to commit myself to them fully, and receive the same from them in return. I know that would be a great deal to ask, especially considering my role in the Inquisition, but I don’t think I’m cut out for simple trysts.”

Dorian had been many things in his life - favored son, family disgrace, pariah, dear friend, creator of time magic - but speechless was hardly ever one of them. Yet faced with those beautiful eyes, the look of sincerity on Cullen’s handsome face, and the subject matter at hand he had not the slightest clue how to respond. As he groped for words Cullen’s expression began to shift from hopeful to cautious, brows drawing together and his mouth going a bit tight.

“I agree!” Dorian blurted, heart racing as he tried to keep the Commander’s face from falling further. “I mean… well it’s just…”

Cullen tilted his head in inquiry, expression lightening again, the slightest hint of a smile tucking into the corners of his mouth. Dorian cleared his throat nervously, fingers tapping idly at the cover of his book.

“Of course in Tevinter there are few options for those of my… persuasion.” He said, a little shocked to find himself so candid. Cullen nodded, matter of fact, and not pitying, which was a relief. “But obviously part of the reason I left was due to a desire for something more substantial than “simple trysts” as you so charmingly put it.”

There was silence between them, loaded and fraught, and Dorian, for all his experience, found himself entirely unsure of how to proceed. He looked down at his fingers wrapped around the book of poetry, rings glittering. He watched in a sort of detached daze as Cullen’s hand reached out to cover his own, pale skin sliding over dark. He could feel the callouses on the pads of Cullen’s fingers and the simple touch seemed to set his skin alight, fire following in the wake of the gentle caress.

“Dorian…” Cullen’s voice was very soft, his eyes intent.

“Ser Pavus, it is your turn!” said a sharp, heavily accented voice, bringing Dorian blinking back to the moment and the fact that he was sitting in a parlor surrounded by tailors and _Blackwall_ of all people, having a moment of… something with Cullen. Utterly insane.

“Uh, yes, of course,” he said, pulling his hand away and setting his book down before standing. Blackwall was scurrying out of the room as if demons were likely to attack at any moment. Then again the Warden would probably have preferred to face demons than another minute on the dressing platform. “Duty calls”

“We can continue this conversation later, if you’d like,” Cullen said, giving him a smile, “if you’re interested.”

Dorian has spent many an hour speculating on conversations with the Commander, the flirting, significant looks, wondering if it might mean what he thought it did, or if it was just wishful thinking. For once, he was absolutely sure there was a decided significance to Cullen’s words, to the soft look in his eyes, and the smile on his face. Dorian swallowed, feeling a bit lost for a moment and then nodded sharply

“Yes, definitely, later.” His words were clipped and awkward, but then again no one had ever professed their interest in him while sitting on a couch in a borrowed palace waiting for their clothes to be tailored. Not exactly the height of romance, certainly, and yet there was a poignant appeal to just how mundane it all was, out in the open as if there were nothing at all strange about the whole situation.

The tailor cleared his throat behind him, and Dorian seriously considered just how much trouble he would be in if he gave the man a little singe. Nothing dramatic, just a small fire ball. Cullen apparently caught the tenor of his thoughts because he grinned, showing off even, white teeth.

“Later.” Dorian repeated firmly.

“Later.” Cullen confirmed.

Later was going to be a very interesting time.

* * *

Much to Cullen’s frustration, _later_ never happened. He wanted nothing more than some time alone with Dorian to discuss… well, whatever there might be between them. Unfortunately while Cullen wanted nothing more than to spend time with Dorian, the Commander had other responsibilities.

They had all retired to their rooms for the afternoon siesta, and Cullen was considering taking an opportunity to visit Dorian’s quarters to further their discussion. The knock on his door sent his heart beating faster, wondering if perhaps Dorian had had the same idea. Instead he found himself blinking down at Leliana, who had cast aside her armor in favor of a pretty blue dress, looking relaxed and lovely. He was immediately suspicious.

“Cullen! Come with me, the Inquisitor has decided to have a bit of a get together in her quarters, your presence was asked for specifically.” Leliana gave him a broad wink, and his brows drew together for a moment. Wasn’t it the siesta? Why on earth would Lavellan be holding a gathering in her quarters when they were all meant to be napping? Leliana smiled at him, expression holding through his confusion and he suddenly recognized the look in her eye - it was the look of a woman waiting for him to catch up.

“Yes, of course,” he replied, feeling his cheeks grow warm. He shouldn’t be so easily embarrassed by Leliana, he was a soldier, not a spy, and yet when he failed to catch on to her subtle hints it always left him feeling like a recruit again. “After you.”

He followed her down the hall to Lavellan’s quarters, casting one wistful glance at the door he knew belonged to Dorian, before following the Nightingale's willowy form into the large bedroom of the Inquisitor.

All signs of the morning’s amorous activities were gone, the bed neatly made, and all Antivan dance instructors evicted from the premises. Bull was leaning against the far wall, looking out a window with a casual air that Cullen didn’t mistake for anything but wary readiness. Josephine and Dust were talking to a blond elf Cullen didn’t recognize, though he was dressed in the same modest white shirt and black trousers as most of the servants of the palace.

He closed the door behind Leliana, and Dust turned to him, face serious.

“Lock the door Commander, I don’t want to be interrupted.” She gave him a wry smile and his lips twitched. He did as ordered and walked further into the room.

“Cullen Rutherford, meet Zevran Aranai, once of the Antivan Crows, currently of… well I suppose you could say he’s currently working for us.”

The blond elf smiled at him, but kept his eyes on Dust. The way the two of them stood next to each other reminded Cullen of two cats who had formed a temporary truce, tails lashing, but lying next to each other in momentary peace. He had a strong urge to place himself between the Inquisitor and the other elf.

“A pleasure commander. I have done a few odd jobs for the Inquisition on the behest of the lovely Nightingale. In truth though, your visit to Antiva at this time is proving… challenging.”

Dust gave a snort of derision, eyes narrowing. She said something in the same strange Antivan that Zigur used, and he saw Josephine stiffen. Zevran turned and responded in kind, and suddenly the illusion of relaxation was gone, and Cullen had his hand on his sword hilt. Bull shifted from the wall as the argument grew in volume.

“Enough!” Leliana’s voice was sharp, but effective. Zevran and Dust both stopped, though they didn’t take their eyes off each other for a moment. Bull came up behind Dust, putting one large hand on her shoulder, leaning down to murmur something softly in her ear. The Inquisitor took a deep breath and her shoulders relaxed slightly, though her hands still twitched as if she wanted to reach for her blades.

“Inquisitor, Zevran is here out of good will and has provided us valuable information. I should think it was time to put your past behind you at this point.” Lelian walked up to Zevran and laid a hand on his arm.

Dust laughed and it was more bitter than the black coffee she drank with breakfast.

“Apparently putting my past behind me isn’t really possible though, is it?” Leliana opened her mouth to say something, but Lavellan waved her marked hand dismissively. “You’re right, Leliana, I’ll be good, no need for a lecture.”

They all held very still as Dust closed her eyes and hung her head for just a moment. Cullen could almost see her settle the weight of the world on her slim shoulders, and he felt guilt curdle in his stomach. Here he was with his mind full of Dorian and his own desires while the Inquisitor faced challenges she had never been trained for or could possibly have anticipated. The Herald of Andraste wasn’t even an Andrastian, but half the world looked to her as a savior, and the other half as an heretical menace.

“Sorry Zevran.” She sounded very, very tired. “Don’t mind me, I just thought I was done sleeping with people who wanted to kill me.”

That got a chuckle from the other elf.

“Ah, my dear Inquisitor, who of us has _not_ slept with someone who eventually tried to kill us?” Josephine made an indignant noise, but the rest of them stayed silent. Cullen tried very hard not to think about Samson, clearing his throat instead.

“I take it that Zevran is not referring to Bull?” He asked, eyebrows raised at the Tal-Vashoth, who just smirked and shook his head.

“Turns out our little dance instructor is more than he seemed. We thought he might be, which was part of why Leliana chose him, so we could keep an eye on him.” Bull shrugged and Cullen turned accusing eyes to Leliana.

“And you didn’t think this was something you should inform me of?” He asked, trying to keep his voice level despite a rising tide of anger.

“We thought it best if few people knew Cullen.” Dust said, tone at least somewhat apologetic. “You’re very good at using force Commander, but subterfuge isn’t what I keep you around for. I didn’t want Zigur to grow suspicious.”

“So the two of you bedded him to what, lure him into a false sense of security?” He asked, and this time he couldn’t keep the anger out of his voice. “You were alone with him for half the morning, he could have killed you at his leisure and been gone with no one the wiser!”

The room went very still and Dust turned to look at him, catching his gaze with icy eyes, irises nearly white around the black of her dilated pupils. Her normally calm face, neutral or jovial around members of the Inquisition was full of something dark that made a shiver go up his spine. It was the face of a woman who had seen too much death and had lost part of herself along the way. He had seen it before, seen it on Hawke’s face the night the Gallows fell, seen it when his men had circled to arrest her and he had known that the Templars were lost.

“I’ve been killing people I’ve fucked since I was barely more than a child, Commander, trust me when I tell you that Zigur did _not_ present a danger.” Her tone was knife sharp, low and full of the kind of anger that never really went away. Cullen looked away, unwilling to face that particular challenge. Bull cleared his throat.

“So… now we know for sure Zigur is a member of the Crows, the question is, what the hell are they after? Is the Inquisitor a contract? I mean Corypheus seems to like to get other people to do his dirty work, but plain old assassins doesn’t seem his style.”

“Ahh, I may be able to help clear that up.” Zevran smiled charmingly at Bull, and Leliana gave him a not so gentle looking elbow to the ribs. “Zigur’s father, Alberto Cortes, was one of the Crows who was killed in the… unpleasantness over the Inquisitor’s former guild. The infighting amongst the Crows was severe by that time, and the guildmaster wasn’t afraid to use the chaos for his own needs. Zigur was recently convinced that Dust killed his father, but that isn’t actually the case. That honor went to yours truly.”

Zevran bowed gracefully, and Dust’s snorted.

“Went to you because you _stole_ the kill from me. Alberto was supposed to be mine.”

“Ah ah, do not be greedy my lady. I was in the right place at the right time, and Alberto definitely needed killing.” Zevran said with a cold smile. “It seems that some of the Venatori have convinced one of the most fanatical branches of the Crows that you should be eliminated once and for all. Zigur makes a fine scapegoat, but I am very certain he is not the _real_ threat. He is too volatile for that. I believe that the ones who pose the real threat will stay well hidden in the shadows and dangle Zigur in front of you as a bright bauble to catch your eye.”

“More than her eye…” Bull said with a grin. They all groaned at the joke, but Cullen felt some of the tension ease from the room. Dust snickered and leaned back against the Iron Bull’s considerable bulk, more tension leaving her body.

“Now that we have that inevitable and _terrible_ joke out of the way, why don’t we decide what to do next?” Dust suggested, voice dry.

Cullen sighed internally. Later was a long way off.


	6. Abrazo cerrado

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pseudo shovel talks and Cullen loses patience.

Dorian would never have thought it possible to be tired of parties, delicious food, and warm weather, but he was. He would never admit it aloud, but he missed Skyhold. Or more specifically he missed the time he got to spend with Cullen _in_ Skyhold. Unfortunately after their strange and intimate moment in the parlor the two of them had never had a chance to speak further, what with the sudden onslaught of parties and preparing for assassins. Poor Cullen had stopped looking relaxed and started looking as if every shadow held unknown danger.

Thus far they had made it through almost the entirety of the week of Satinalia with nothing more aggressive than fawning nobles and merchant princes attempting to win the favor of the Inquisition in the most lavish way imaginable. If anything, Lavellan was more likely to die of overeating than assassination from the way she was tearing her way through Antivan delicacies.

In fact the food _hadn’t_ been overlooked as a danger, the Nightingale took her paranoia seriously. All of them now wore rings subtly enchanted to warn if poison was present in the dishes they ate. There had been a slight mishap when, for some reason, the enchantment had been set off by saffron, and they had all stared in horror at the paella for a few panicked minutes, but a small adjustment had fixed that unfortunate problem. Dorian found himself missing Dagna with a passion.

They attended party after party, fete after fete. The Inquisitor was so sought after that there was no way she could attend them all. She went to the ones that Josephine and Leliana chose, while other members of the Inquisition went to others. Dorian often went with the Inquisitor, serving as her obvious escort while the Iron Bull stood behind her, impassive and huge, doing his part as her mindless, mercenary bodyguard, intimidating and violent, _obviously_ incapable of understanding the intrigue around him.

They enjoyed the results of that little ruse, letting Bull’s superior hearing, knowledge of multiple languages, and impressive memory capture tidbits while Dorian played the Tevinter rake, and Dust did a shockingly good impression of a demure Antivan lady. The mid morning brunch they were attending was actually Dorian’s favorite event thus far. It was good to be outside, away from the cloying scent of beeswax candles, heavily spiced food, and hundreds of different perfumes. Watching Dust wave a gold trimmed, lace fan and bat her eyelashes, tinted black against the Antivan sunlight, as she flirted oh so delicately with Dons and Guild Masters was a treat.

The day time fiestas lacked the masks and costumes that were ever present for the evening ones, which meant Dust was dressed in the height of Antivan fashion, laced into a rose-gold silk gown, accented with white lace and embroidery. Dorian wore Tevinter style robes, re-created in white silk, accented with the same rose gold as the Inquisitor. Bull wore his usual ridiculously oversized breeches, in blood red, with black leather accents, body painted with vitaar, green eye glaring. Not a single host had balked at the massive qunari and his equally massive ax, simply nodding as if it was obvious that the tiny, fragile Inquisitor must require a bodyguard.

He had expected Dust to bristle at the idea of her helplessness, but instead she played it to amazing advantage. A female member of the Inquisition always accompanied them as a chaperone, apparently a necessity for a member of the Antivan nobility. The fact that Dust was actually an “alienage brat” as she put it, who had lived a life that would make the dowagers faint in horror, didn’t seem to matter at all as long as she played the part. Vivienne delighted in the role of stern chaperone, while Cassandra, like Bull, simply relied on looking intimidating. Sera did not serve chaperone duty, ever.

Today was Vivienne’s turn again, and she was playing her role to the hilt. The Antivans _loved_ her, approving of her haughty snobbery and intimidating air. She was currently speaking amiably with a dowager who was staring at Dust and Dorian with disturbing interest as they sat on a bench, surrounded by late blooming roses that he had specifically chosen to paint the most attractive picture of them possible.

“Am I the only one disturbed by the _intensity_ with which Vivienne’s companion is staring at us? If I were the Crows and the Venatori I would send her to finish us off with that glare.” Dust covered a wicked grin with her fan, and Dorian got the feeling she knew exactly why the Dowager seemed so interested in them

“There are rumors that the two of you are betrothed. Ma’am is doing a really good job of neither confirming nor denying.” Bull’s murmur was so quiet that it took Dorian a moment to even process what he had said, and then he nearly lost control of his facial expression. Wouldn’t do to act as if the ox-man had said something amusing and not mildly threatening.

“Dare I ask how such a rumor was started?” he asked, keeping his face utterly pleasant, as if he were remaking on the quality of the (utterly delicious) wine being served. He lifted his glass to his lips, looking at Dust out of the corner of his eyes.

“The way all good rumors are started - by our talented little bird.” She fluttered the fan artfully and Dorian caught sight of a small cluster of young noblemen staring at her with puppyish longing. With her long hair styled to cover the shaved sides, and her tattoos softened with a light dusting of powder, she looked dainty and sweet, instead of intimidating and deadly. Dorian thought idly that “innocent maiden” was the most impressive costume she had donned so far.

“Speaking of betrothals and matchmaking,” Dust said, tone utterly sweet and innocent. “What in the Void is going on with you and Cullen, Peacock?”

That time he did lose control of his expression for a moment, feeling his eyes widen in surprise. Dust had been so busy attending parties and bedding assassins he hadn’t thought for a minute she would notice the awkward… whatever it was, budding between him and Cullen.

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re referring to, dear lady.” He smiled at her, a look of overwhelming adoration plastered to his face. She smiled at his expression briefly, matching his look of adoration for a moment before turning away in a look of maidenly disarray.

“Nug shit Dorian.” She waved her fan gently, as if trying to cool faintly blushing cheeks. “I’ve seen the way you two look at each other at Skyhold, but it’s gotten positively out of hand since we got here. You really thought Blackwall wasn’t going to notice the two of you gazing longingly at each other right in front of him and then promptly tell Josie all about it?”

 _Kaffas._ He actually hadn’t thought of that at all, which showed just how addled Cullen had him. Eyeing Bull, who had moved off a bit to give them the illusion of privacy, he set down his wine glass, gently taking Dust’s hand, placing his other hand atop it and looking at her with fake longing. He gave her hand an unnecessarily hard squeeze.

“Blackwall is an ass, and we were not gazing longingly, we were simply talking.”

“Yes of course, much the way Bull and I talk.” From a distance he had no doubt she looked enraptured, but her pale eyes had an undeniably wicked gleam

“Don’t be ridiculous darling, no ropes or paddles were involved.” Dust couldn’t hold back the laughter at that, though she managed to force it into the semblance of a girlish giggle.

“Dorian…”

“Dust I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t. Cullen is…” _Wonderful, handsome, ridiculously sweet, endearing…_ he stopped himself before he could think of any more superlatives to describe the Commander, letting go of her hand before their audience got suspicious.

“An ex-Templar who was none too pleased when I brought him a veritable army of free mages?” Dust offered dryly. “I’m not one to tell you what to do with your life, but I’m...concerned. I made it a point to find out more about what happened in Kirkwall after Hawke’s visit and I’d be lying if I didn’t say it makes me nervous to think of you with a Templar, even a former one.”

Dorian stiffened, hands curling into fists, wishing he were anywhere but where he was. He briefly considered simply walking away, but Dust was the closest friend he had had since Felix, and the concern on her face wasn’t feigned.

“I have no room to judge someone for their past Dorian. My own is littered with enough bodies to fill this whole party. I just…” She looked away, hiding behind her fan in earnest. “I have a lot of people who rely on me, who follow me for their own reasons, but not many I can call a friend. I don’t think I’ve ever had a friend I value as much as you. I suppose it’s foolish to worry about affairs of the heart when the world is trying to go to utter and complete shit around our ears, but you’re the best friend I’ve ever had, and I want you to be happy.” She still refused to look at him, and Dorian was grateful because his throat had gone strangely tight, and he couldn’t quite tell what expression his face was wearing.

“If Cullen makes you happy that’s wonderful, but if he hurts you I will need a new Commander for my army because I will carve his heart out and wear it as a necklace, am I clear?”

Dorian couldn’t help it, he burst into laughter. Dust scowled at him, kohl rimmed eyes narrowed dangerously before her lips twitched and she followed suit.

“Fen’harel’s balls, I sound ridiculous,” she said, breathless with laughter. The guests were now eyeing them with interest verging on concern, and the dowager looked _decidedly_ disapproving. Dust rose, smoothing her silk skirts demurely and murmured over her shoulder. “Try not to get your heart broken Peacock, and try not to break Cullen’s either.”

Leaving him with his confused thoughts, she sailed over to Vivienne and began the work of charming yet more Antivan nobility into submission.

* * *

By the final day of the Satinalia celebration, Cullen was feeling a strange nostalgia for Kirkwall. At least a Qunari invasion was visible, not hiding in shadows simply waiting for their guard to drop in order to take out the single most important person in all of Thedas. Were all assassins such idiots that they preferred a contract with the Venatori and a brief taste of revenge, to saving the world from being overrun by demons and madness? It was as exasperating as it was exhausting.

They were to attend the king’s grand masquerade in the evening, and it seemed inevitable that if the strike was going to come, the chaos of a massive, masked ball would be an optimal chance. He was nearly eager for it, at least if they finally made their presence felt something could be done, and they could finish this idiotic farce.

He missed Dorian. He missed their chess games, and Dorian’s laughter, he missed Dorian’s dry input at their war councils when Lavellan insisted on having the entire Inner Circle present to gather opinions from all of her companions. He was used to Dorian disappearing into the field with the Inquisitor for weeks at a time, but this was worse somehow because Dorian was right _there_ , but just out of reach.

They seldom attended the same parties, as Cullen was held out as bait for women of marriageable age, while Josephine and Leliana spread rumors of a possible engagement between the Inquisitor and Dorian. It seemed the perfect goad to make the Venatori show their hand in rage at the idea of one of the ancient lines of the Imperium sullied by elf blood. It was a good idea… and Cullen hated it thoroughly.

The day of the King's ball he was in the courtyard, attempting to take his frustrations and fears out on a practice dummy before the heat of the afternoon grew too oppressive. He was sweaty, shirtless, and near exhaustion but he finally felt as if some of the tension was leaving him, driven away by the sheer strain of physical labor. He had just managed to finish destroying the makeshift wooden dummy when he heard Dorian’s voice.

“Well, whatever that dummy did, I’m glad to see it was duly punished Commander.”

He turned and there was Dorian standing in a shaft of midday sunlight, dark skin set off by the brilliant white of his robes, smile almost as brilliant as he watched Cullen with glittering blue grey eyes. He was the most beautiful thing that Cullen had ever seen.

He couldn’t have said afterward what came over him, whether it was heat, or stress, or some other form of madness, but he tossed his practice weapon aside with a carelessness that would have earned him extra watch duty as a recruit. He didn’t give a damn, he stalked toward Dorian with one thought, and one thought only, which was that if he didn’t kiss the other man, he was going to die.

Dorian watched him cross the space between them and Cullen saw his smile disappear as he blinked in surprise, obviously unsure of what was going on. Cullen reached out and grabbed his wrist, turning to haul him into the shady obscurity of the small orchard that bordered the practice courtyard. Dorian made a noise of surprise but didn’t protest, following along behind him without a word.

Hidden from prying eyes, still reeling with a kind of feverish madness, he wrapped his hands around Dorian’s upper arms and pressed him against the trunk of an orange tree, pressing his body close. Dorian was an inch or two shorter than he was, his frame more slender, but still muscular, and Cullen wanted him, wanted him with a desperation that didn’t leave room for doubt or shyness to muddle up his intent.

“Dorian,” his voice was low, barely more than a growl and Dorian looked at him wide eyed. “may I kiss you?”

Dorian’s mouth dropped open, and he let out an indignant huff.

“ _Kaffas_ , all that dramatic lead up and then you stop to ask permission? Void yes, kiss me before I set you on fire!”

Cullen did not need to be told twice. He abandoned his hold on Dorian’s arms, sliding his fingers into that perfectly coiffed black hair, gently pulling the mage’s head back and bringing his mouth down. Dorian tasted of sweet wine and spices, his full lips even softer than Cullen had imagined, the brush of his mustache a mild tickle against the coarse stubble on Cullen’s own lip.

Dorian’s lips opened under his and a soft sound slipped out, invitation and request in one. Cullen slid his tongue between those perfect lips, tasting and exploring as he’d wanted to for so long. The kiss was soft at first, sweet, but Dorian was impatient, chasing at him, nibbling his bottom lip which elicited a groan from Cullen. He gave the mage what he wanted, deepening the kiss, tongue demanding as he delved deeper into the wet heat of Dorian’s mouth. When he pulled back and gave a sharp little bite to that full lower lip, Dorian moaned, bucking his hips, bringing their bodies against each other and pressing against Cullen’s growing erection.

Dorian’s hands made their way over Cullen’s skin, across his sweat slick back and down to grab his ass, grinding them together. Cullen didn’t even try to resist, simply moved closer until he was rutting against Dorian, pressing him back hard into the tree trunk. He pulled back from Dorian’s mouth, ignoring the soft sound of protest the mage made, trailing soft kisses across the smooth shaved skin of Dorian’s jaw, using his teeth when he reached the juncture of jaw and neck, smiling when Dorian gave a whimper.

He pulled his fingers out of Dorian’s hopelessly rumpled hair and reached down, clutching at the smaller man’s thighs. With a quick movement he lifted, fingers digging into the tense muscle of Dorian's thighs until his back slid up the tree. Dorian wrapped his legs firmly around Cullen’s waist with a heartfelt moan.

“Cullen…” His name, breathless and desperate from Dorian’s mouth was a gift, tightening the ache already building low in his gut as he sucked tenderly at the skin of Dorian’s neck. He gave a growling rumble in response. “Cullen!”

“Mmm… yes love?” he asked, pressing Dorian just a bit harder against the tree trunk. He could feel Dorian’s interest and enthusiasm pressed tight against his belly. He nuzzled under Dorian’s collar and ran his tongue over the sharp line of his collar bone.

“ _Festis bei umo canavarum!_ Cullen, we’re in the middle of the orchard, and I assure you, as much as I would like for you to ravish me, I’m certain eventually someone will notice. Can we please retire to your quarters. Or my quarters, _I don’t care,_ but somewhere with a bed would be lovely.”

Cullen’s thoughts stuttered to a halt somewhere around ravish and returned to functionality around the word bed.

“Yes, bed, absolutely.” He nodded and set Dorian down gently, his hands shaking ever so slightly as he attempted to straighten Dorian’s hopelessly disordered robes. Dorian just chuckled and pushed his hands away.

“It’s a lost cause, _amatus_.” Dorian’s smile was crooked, lips flushed and swollen from kisses, mustache wilted from contact. He reached out and ran a hand down Cullen’s cheek, heated with exertion and lust, and he turned to kiss it, enjoying the feel of Dorian’s staff calluses against his lips.

“Also, you’re in dire need of a bath, you’ve utterly ruined the silk with your sweat.”

“Well there’s a perfectly reasonable solution, which is to get your robes off and then get you equally sweaty.” Cullen grinned, the happy madness that Dorian caused letting him speak his wicked thoughts far more freely than normal. Dorian’s jaw dropped and his eyes unfocused slightly, his hand going utterly still on Cullen’s face.

“Uh… yes, that is certainly a solution. Shall we retire?”

“Commander?”

Cullen liked Krem - he was a good man, a good fighter, and his stories in the tavern were always entertaining. There was absolutely no reason Cullen should very suddenly want to punch him right in the face just because he was interrupting. Bull’s lieutenant was in the practice courtyard, Cullen could just make him out through the trees, auburn hair glinting. Dorian sighed.

“I get the unfortunate feeling that duty is about to call you away.” Dorian said softly, voice barely more than a whisper.

“If we just ignore him, perhaps he’ll go away.” Cullen wanted to believe it would work, but Krem called for him again, moving toward the orchard.

“Yet another lost cause I’m afraid. And best that you go to him now I think. You’ll forgive me if I’d rather he not see me in this state of dishabille. I’ll never hear the end of it.” Dorian rolled his eyes but ran warm fingers down Cullen’s bare arm, obviously still quite interested. “Besides Commander, you owe me a dance this evening, and I promise you I have every intention of collecting on that bet.”

“Well, if that’s the case I suppose I can wait until tonight.” There was no hiding the lust or anticipation in his voice, and he found he had no desire to do so.

“Until tonight, Cullen.” Dorian promised softly. The sound of his name on Dorian’s lips was a bit too much to resist, and he darted in to steal another quick kiss, brushing his lips against Dorian’s. Then he turned to make his way out of the orchard toward Krem’s inquiring voice, saying a quick prayer of thanks to the Maker for loose trousers.


	7. Lapiz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inquisitor, why can't we ever got to a party where no one tries to kill you?

The Reales Alcázares de Ciudad de Antiva was a magnificent palace - huge, beautiful, steeped in history, and lit with enough golden lanterns to make the night sky jealous. It was a fantastic setting for a masked ball, and a dramatic location for a fight to the death with a wild mix of Venatori and Crows. Dorian found that not even the impressive setting made up for his annoyance at having his evening with Cullen interrupted.

“Just once…” he shouted to Dust, who was busy disemboweling a Venatori, her volcanic aurum blade glittering in the lantern light. “Just once I would like to attend a party that did not end with the agents of Corypheus trying to kill us!”

He animated the now _very_ dead Venatori and sent the corpse dashing across the courtyard to behead a Crow who was sneaking up behind Blackwall.

“Now, now Dorian…” Dust’s voice was a bit strained as she dashed toward him, planting herself so that they were back to back and he could more easily create a barrier around them both. “We attended parties all week where the only threat we faced was boredom. I’d think you’d appreciate a little excitement.”

There was a joyous bellow from across the courtyard as The Iron Bull shattered an opponent’s ice encrusted body. Vivienne smiled at him like a fond mother whose child had done something particularly clever.

A group of Ventari had gathered around one of their own mages protectively, trying to give him time to cast something unsavory. Dorian concentrated, laying down the foundation for an inferno spell beneath them, crowing with glee when it worked perfectly, sending their flaming bodies scrambling and bumping into their each other, the mage nothing more than a pile of ash.

“Mind the fire spells Dorian, I’m not explaining to his Majesty that we set his palace on fire.” The heat of Dust’s body disappeared from behind him, and she was flying through the air, pulled by a thin, deadly chain wrapped tight around her victim’s throat. She had impaled him before her feet even hit the ground.

“Oh yes, because of course sweeping up a little ash will be so much more difficult than cleaning up the pools of blood!” He was not about to let her get the last word, even in the middle of a battle. She pointed to Cassandra and Cullen, who were fighting off a whole pack of Crows, then did _something_ that made her nearly impossible to see. He concentrated on clearing her a path for her, knowing she was utterly invisible to their enemies, most of whom were still wearing black feathered masks. Really it was a gouache statement at best, Dorian was underwhelmed - he had expected the Crows at least to have a better sense of style.

Dorian’s heart lurched as one of the assassins got a bit too close to Cullen with some surprisingly deft footwork, managing to swipe his weapon mere inches from the Commander’s beautiful face. Then the man went tumbling ass over tea kettle as Cassandra used her shield to send his body flying. There was a dull thump behind Dorian and he turned to see a Venatori Shadow laying on the ground behind him with a crossbow bolt through his neck, eyes wide and blank.

“Head in the game Sparkler, your boyfriend will be fine!” Varric executed an amazingly nimble summersault away from an opponent and Dorian resisted the urge to send a bite of electricity at the dwarf’s ass, because Varric was right.

He surveyed the courtyard, trying to decide where he was needed most. Sera and Leliana had both found high ground, showering arrows down on opponents. Cullen, Cassandra and Dust had systematically destroyed their band of attackers, and Vivienne and Bull were continuing to turn their portion of the courtyard into a grisly imitation of the Frostbacks. He couldn’t see Cole, but that meant nothing, he was certain the spirit had been responsible for any number of the bodies on the ground. Blackwall and Solas seemed to have paired off and were making their methodic way through Venatori, talking calmly to each other as if it were a simple stroll through a village green. Josephine was also missing, but he was hoping the Ambassador had stayed inside to try and cover the attack with the nobility.

“You!” There was a shout from the stairwell leading back into the palace proper, and Zigur stood at the top, pointing at Dust, hair hanging free and wild about his shoulders, dressed in black leather and silverite armor. His black Crow mask sat on top of his head, revealing murderous turquoise eyes, and a face twisted with hate. “You demon born bitch, I will end you!”

_So much for not speaking common..._

“My dear Lavellan, are all of your ex-lovers this melodramatic?” He called tauntingly, the adrenaline rush of battle making the entire situation morbidly and terribly amusing.

“Not at all, most of them are dead.” The smile Dust gave sent a shiver down his spine even through the rush of battle. “Zigur, I know you think I killed your father, but I didn’t. Even if I _had_ , what does it matter now? It’s been years, and I assure you, siding with Corypheus for revenge is utter madness.”

Dorian and the rest of the Inquisition, having finally dispatched the last of their opponents were beginning to make their way to the Inquisitor, who was casually cleaning her blades on the tunic of one of her former opponents as Zigur sputtered.

“Madness? How dare you! I have waited five _years_ for vengeance, if you think I won’t have it you are the one who is mad.” He drew two long, wicked looking blades in an obvious challenge, and Dorian sighed internally. So much posturing.

“Gravedust, Queen of the Court of Ashes, I challenge you to a _duello_ to the death, as is my right under the code of the Compact of Guilds.” He pointed his dagger at Dust, who rolled her eyes.

“ _Gravedust_?” Bull’s voice was full of barely suppressed laughter. “Are you shitting me, they actually called you that Boss?”

Dust made a sound of disgust that would have done Cassandra proud.

“I was young and stupid, much like our friend here. Besides, you have no room to give me shit about names, _The Iron Bull_.”

“Well I do!” Dorian exclaimed, delighted. “And I have every intention of doing so _Gravedust_.”

“Not to interrupt this charming banter my friends, but I believe your Inquisitor has a challenge to answer.”

Behind Zigur, three people walked out of the palace; Josephine, looking distressed, a very handsome blond elf with a wicked smile and a black tattoo on his face, and a tall, dark haired man with eyes the same color as Zigur’s, a closely cropped beard, and a magnificent costume made of black velvet and crow feathers.

“Antonio, I wondered if you’d decide to show up. Please tell me you weren’t _actually_ stupid enough to side with the Venatori.” Dust had sheathed her weapons and had her hands on her hips, looking mildly annoyed, as if whichever one of the men was Antonio had served her soup during the salad course and she was mildly frustrated by his lack of manners.

“While they certainly made an interesting offer, I believe in gold, and not favors from mad men who imagine themselves to be gods. It was, on the other hand, a reasonable way to weed out those members of my guild who were unsatisfied with their working conditions.” Antonio was apparently the tall brunette. His voice was deep and attractive, his Common only barely accented, his tone as calm as Dust’s. “I’m afraid my nephew has inherited his father’s volatility though, and thought their plan offered the opportunity for highly misguided revenge.”

Zigur looked on the verge of erupting with rage, hissing something at Antonio in High Antivan too fast for Dorian to make out. For the first time annoyance crossed the face of the man Dorian was starting to suspect was the leader of the Antivan Crows.

“Your father was foolish beyond measure to think he would destroy the Court of Ashes unscathed. He made a wager and he _lost_ , you need not follow in his footsteps boy. She didn’t even kill your father, that was this bastard’s doing.” Antonio pointed to the blond elf, scowling.

“It is true! I’m afraid I stole that honor from Lady Lavellan, she was quite put out at me for it.” The blond elf, smiled, but it was in no way a happy expression, more of a predatory showing of teeth.

“He was my kill Zevran, you just took advantage of the chaos. It was rude.” Dust’s tone was light, but there was a simmering hostility underneath it that indicated a history Dorian had no desire to know more of.

“You are all liars! Liars and cowards. I will avenge my father’s death, and then I will take your place Antonio. The Crows diminish under you, there will be nothing left of us soon. I have made the challenge, you cannot interfere!” Zigur sounded triumphant in his rage, and Dorian wondered just how old the fool was. It was a shame he wasn’t going to grow any older, but there was little to be done with that level of willful stupidity. Antonio looked disgusted, Josephine looked distressed, and Zevran simply kept smiling. Finally the guild leader sighed and turned to look at Dust.

“Do you accept the challenge? You are the last of the Court, but as you live you will always be their Guild Master, the challenge is valid.”

Dust looked at Zigur long enough that the young man’s triumphant smile changed to a scowl.

“It’s a waste Antonio. I’ve put this behind me. You should make him do the same rather than let him throw away his life.”

“He has forced my hand, _Inquisitor_ , and I grow tired of holding his leash. Do you accept the challenge?” The jovial mask of the cultured nobleman was slipping, the hired killer coming to the surface. Dorian shivered, despite the warmth of the evening. Dust sighed.

“I accept,” she said, nodding at Zigur. The redhead grinned wildly.

“Good, I hope you fight as well as you fuck you dirty wh-” Zigur stopped short, the black hilt of a throwing dagger sticking out of his throat, eyes wide with shock as he clutched at it. Three more knives followed in short succession, forming a perfect triangle over his heart. Dorian looked to Dust, impressed with her efficiency, noting that she had another dagger in her hand, ready to throw if needed. Zigur collapsed on the stairs, blood beginning to pool beneath him as Josephine gave a shocked cry. Dust shook her head, regret obvious in the lines of her features. Bull placed a hand on her shoulder as she returned the throwing dagger to whatever hidden location it had come from.

“Well, that settles that.” Antonio said, voice solemn. “Ambassador, please let me escort you back to the ballroom, I will notify the major domo that attention is needed to the disposal of this unpleasantness. Zevran, perhaps you will accompany us that you and I may speak further?”

Antonio took Josephine’s arm, eliciting a dark scowl from Blackwall, though the Warden said nothing. Zevran shrugged, threw the Inquisitor a wink, and turned to follow the other two back into the palace.

“Well,” Varric said, breaking the growing strain of the silence. “You ready to go back to the party _Gravedust_? We haven’t managed to topple a ruling monarch yet, and the night is still young.”

Dust groaned and there were a few dark chuckles, Dorian’s included.

“Let’s get this over with,” Dust said, obviously tired. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I miss the fucking Frostbacks.”

* * *

Cullen wasn’t sure which was the bigger surprise - that they had fought yet _another_ pitched battle in the middle of a royal masquerade ball, or the fact that the King of Antiva didn’t seem even the least bit perturbed by the whole thing. When they had all returned to the ballroom after finding the Chargers and handing off their weapons, stopping along the way to clean blood off of their skin and their (thankfully) black clothing, Fulgeno III had simply asked the Inquisitor to dance. Apparently Josephine and Vivienne had accounted for fighting in their clothing plans, as they all wore costumes that leant themselves to easy movement and wouldn’t show blood. Cullen tried hard not to think about what that said about their lives.

The musicians struck up a song Cullen recognized from their dance lessons. He tried to block out the image it brought to mind, of young Zigur lying on the steps of the palace, eyes shocked at his own quick defeat. He appreciated that the Inquisitor hadn’t bothered to extend the farce out, but the whole thing left a terrible taste in his mouth. It was all such a waste. He watched Lavellan closely for signs of… well he wasn’t sure what he was looking for actually. The gold mask she wore covered her entire face in the Antivan style, and her body language was sedate, but he suspected she was holding on to calm by a mere thread.

“Commander, it will be easier to keep an eye on the Inquisitor from the dance floor, and you owe me a tango.” He blinked and felt his cheeks flush at the sight of Dorian, exquisitely garbed in snug black leather and silk, his gold mask carved with sinuous snake like shapes, silvery eyes dark in the low light.

“I suppose it will, though I’ll admit I’m actually a bit surprised you want to dance in front of the entire Antivan court.” He gestured to the floor of the ballroom where couples moved carefully around the king and the Inquisitor.

Dorian tucked his hand into Cullen’s elbow, and while the mask hid his mouth, the crinkle of skin at the corner of his eyes made him think Dorian was grinning.

“First of all, everyone is watching Dust and the king, and second, if a bloody battle in a palace courtyard isn’t enough to scandalize the Antivan court, I doubt us dancing has a chance.” They made their way toward the dance floor, Cullen chuckling softly.

“Then again, they’re Antivan, you can never tell what will scandalize them.”

“True.” Dorian said, as he swayed gracefully onto the floor, pulling Cullen into a starting hold. “But I find myself entirely incapable of caring. I refuse to waste the time that we have together.”

Cullen followed Dorian’s lead as they moved onto the floor, his stomach fluttering with nerves at being so exposed. While the majority of the court’s attention was on the king and his dance partner, Cullen could still feel stares boring into his back as the gossip mill began to churn around them. Though in truth, it was the members of the Inquisition who were most likely to be watching them, not the Antivan nobles.

“You’re thinking too hard Cullen.” Dorian admonished him. Cullen wished they weren’t wearing the idiotic masks, but at least there wasn’t undue tension in Dorian’s shoulders. The mage was using simple steps, leading with authority, his hands and arms subtly telling Cullen when to move. He tried to think of it as a sparring match - he and Dorian didn’t face off against each other often, but when they did it was interesting. Cullen watched for cues, let his muscles relax so that they could respond more easily, and found himself actually enjoying the dance.

When Cullen actually remembered to do one of the leg flourishes that Josephine taught him, Dorian laughed with delight and pulled him to his chest, locking them in a closed embrace. Cullen desperately wanted to rip off both of their masks and kiss Dorian breathless right on the floor, but instead he concentrated on their dance, on matching Dorian’s movements, paying close attention to every subtle physical cue he provided. Dorian’s movements grew more aggressive as he moved across the floor, and Cullen followed, without any doubts or fears, an odd feeling of freedom filling him in the mage’s arms.

As the music reached a crescendo, Cullen felt Dorian tense, obviously intending something more complicated, and he relaxed, ready to respond to whatever the other man did. A quick turn, a feeling of surprise as he fell, and he was blinking up at Dorian from a careful dip, arms tight around his neck, fingers brushing dark hair. Cullen’s body responded of it’s own accord, one foot pointed, leg extended; his other leg bent under him, bracing his lower body so that he balanced with the support of one of Dorian’s surprisingly strong arms.

There was applause all around them, as well as excited murmurs, and a few delighted giggles, Cullen suddenly felt a lot more grateful for his mask. Dorian pulled him upright with a flourish, then bowed to him, and Cullen could see him wink through the eye holes of his mask.

“I told you I’d be a _stimulating_ partner.” Dorian bragged quietly, taking Cullen’s hand and tucking it back into the crook of his arm. Cullen was grateful to realize that most of the murmurs of excitement were actually for Dust and the king, who had apparently done something to make an impression. Both of them had lost their very elaborate masks and King Fulgeno was flushed, his thick brown hair slightly mussed. Dust curtseyed deeply to the king, looking up at him from under dark lashes.

“That you are,” Cullen replied to Dorian. He decided that the Inquisitor and any further scandalous behavior was Josephine and Leliana’s problem for the rest of the night. He needed to concentrate on a certain Tevinter mage and the very important definition of _later_.


	8. Corte

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut. Yeah, that's pretty much it, smut and some fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey look I remembered this fix exists! Here's the final chapter folks, sorry for the super long delay. I did NOT re-read and revise this so please forgive any mistakes from the first time around.

It was nearly dawn when they tumbled into Cullen’s room, lips and hands roaming over fabric and whatever skin they could reach. Dorian’s clothes were too tight, his skin was hot, and fatigue from a long day, a battle, and the remainder of the ball was fast burning away in the wake of calloused fingers moving over his body. He was quite certain that if anything interrupted them he would either die, or murder someone, he wasn’t really sure which.

“Lock the door, Cullen.” He whispered, breath hot in the sliver of space between their lips.

“Mm… yes.” Cullen pressed him back against the door, one hand trailing along his ribs as the other quickly turned the lock on the door. When that hand joined the other on Dorian’s hip the mage let out a soft moan into Cullen’s mouth.

He was about to suggest they make their way to the bed, when Cullen’s body dipped at the knees and Dorian found himself being picked up, legs wrapping tight around Cullen’s waist, a reminder of their earlier moment in the garden. Dorian had been sorely tempted to take himself in hand when he returned to his room that afternoon, but he had refrained, preferring instead to let the delicious ache build inside him in hopes it would be resolved with Cullen’s assistance. And thank Andraste that appeared to be about to happen.

He gave a squeak of surprise when he was dropped onto the bed, Cullen grinning down at him. Dorian was about to protest, but then the Commander began to make quick work of the laces on his doublet, pulling it over his head along with his shirt the minute it was loose enough, leaving him bare chested in the light of the fire. Not that Dorian hadn’t seen Cullen shirtless before, and enjoyed every minute of it, but sweet Maker it was different to have him so close, to know he was going to be able to _touch_ him.

The fact that he was wearing skin tight black breeches that rode low enough on his hips to give Dorian a peek at the curve of his hip bones didn’t make it any easier to keep from simply lying back on the bed and spreading his legs in invitation. Cullen’s eyes made their way over Dorian’s body, gaze hungry, but eyebrows drawn together in mild consternation.

“Dorian, I haven’t the faintest notion how to get you out of what you’re wearing, short of using a knife.”

He laughed, but it was breathless with thoughts of Cullen cutting him out of his tight laced tunic. That thought shouldn’t have been as erotic as it was. Trying to force his mind into some semblance of order, Dorian focused on the various laces and buckles of his tight leather tunic. It wasn’t something he could make as short work of as Cullen did with his own clothes, but his fingers were deft and he was _motivated_. In less than a minute he had managed to release himself, squirming out of the restricting garment which Cullen tossed across the room with a grunt of resentment before running his hands up Dorian’s chest.

Cullen’s golden eyes narrowed at the sight of Dorian’s pierced nipples, and then he smiled. Dorian was hard pressed to remember if he’d ever seen such an absolutely wicked expression on the blonde’s face. One calloused fingertip ran over his right nipple with exquisite care, before Cullen delicately pinched the ring between his fingers and _tugged._

 _“Fuck!”_ Dorian exclaimed, his whole body arching up off the bed as heat shot straight to his cock like lightning. Cullen chuckled, the bastard, and then leaned down to nuzzle at Dorian’s neck.

“We’ll get to that love.” Cullen said softly, nipping at Dorian’s skin, causing a sharp flare of sweet pain before soft lips kissed him and soothed it away. Hearing Cullen call him _love_ made his head spin, lust, nerves, and longing all commingling in a haze of doubt.

 _Amatus_ sat sweet and sharp on his tongue, because what if that “love” was simply for the heat of the moment? Cullen had said it in the orchard too, their bodies pressed close and all sense blurring with the press of sweat damp skin against silk, and _amatus_ had slipped from Dorian in automatic response. He wanted to stop, wanted to ask Cullen if he truly meant it, but then all of that muscle and heat was pressing him down into the bed, the Commander’s obvious arousal pressed against his own, and questions of love would wait.

“Pants off now.” Dorian ordered breathlessly, his hands clutching at Cullen’s broad back, nails digging into pale skin. He heard a chuckle against his neck, but Cullen moved off of him, sliding to the side of the bed to pull off his black boots. The tight breeches followed, and Dorian was rather delighted to discover that the Commander had apparently neglected to wear any smalls. Dorian raised an eyebrow and grinned at Cullen, his gaze deliberately sliding down the scarred, muscled chest to the thick, erect cock jutting out from dark blond curls, then flicking back up in inquiry. Cullen shrugged.

“Apparently pants that tight require a rather specific type of small clothes, and there wasn’t time to find any.” Dorian laughed.

“I’m familiar. In fact, if you come here and help me get my boots off, I’ll even show you.” It was Cullen’s turn to grin as he circled around the bed, eyes never leaving Dorian as he moved to stand between the mage’s feet. Once there he eyed Dorian’s boots with the same kind of doubtful look he had given the tunic.

“Dorian how on earth do you dress yourself?” He asked, voice slightly incredulous as he took in the black leather boots that extend over Dorian’s knees, the cuff brushing against his lower thigh. Dorian laughed, and he couldn’t remember the last time he laughed with a naked man in front of him from simple amusement instead of a need for cruelty. He shoved unpleasant memories away and turned over onto his stomach, sucking in a breath as his cock brushed against the bed.

“With style and exquisite taste, Commander.” He threw over his shoulder, smiling cheekily. “Just unlace them.”

Cullen ran his hands from Dorian’s ankle all the way to his thigh, making him groan into the coverlet on the bed. Strong fingers made quick work of the laces before repeating the process on the other leg. Cullen grabbed the base of one boot and tugged, and Dorian wiggled, lifting his leg to try and assist the process. He heard Cullen make a plaintive sound behind him and turned to blink at him over his shoulder.

“You wiggling your ass like that is _not_ going to make this go faster Dorian.” Dorian laughed, delighted, and turned his head back into the coverlet, but couldn’t resist wiggling his ass again. To his shock it earned him a swift swat across his leather-clad bum.

“Cullen!” He exclaimed, startled and turned on at the same time. Cullen just grinned.

“Off with the pants Dorian, let’s see these special smalls of yours.”

Dorian flipped onto his back and smiled, before scooting to the end of the bed, crowding into Cullen’s space. The Commander stepped back to give him room to stand, and he did so, slowly unlacing his breeches and pushing them down to reveal the tight, black silk of his very brief smalls.

“Maker’s _breath_ , Dorian.” How Cullen managed to sound both reverent and lustful at the same time was a mystery, but it did things to Dorian, sent heat shooting through him. It wasn’t really possible for him to get harder, the head of his cock was already escaping the waist of his small clothes, but his knees went weak.

To his surprise, Cullen knelt before him and gently pulled his breeches the rest of the way down, steadying Dorian with a hand on his hip as he stepped out of them. Standing before Cullen in nothing but a very small bit of silk made goosebumps rise all over his skin, and for once not from cold. Cullen looked up at him intently, pupils blown wide in the darkness, nothing but a ring of molten gold left of his irises. The hand on his hip shifted as he ran the backs of his fingers oh so gently over black silk, and it was more than Dorian could watch. His eyelids fluttered closed and a groan escaped his throat as the touch continued over his erection.

“Look at me Dorian, I want to see you.” Cullen’s voice was low and quiet, gravelly with lust and as much as Dorian wanted to resist he did as he was told, looking down to find a smile on Cullen’s scarred lips. Never taking his eyes from Dorian, he stroked his knuckles down the underside of Dorian’s cock, then reached out and tugged down the damp silk that had been partially covering it. Released, it sprang away from Dorian’s belly, framed by his neatly trimmed pubic hair.

Cullen wrapped his hand around Dorian at his base, never breaking their gaze. He lowered his mouth to take Dorian’s head between his lips. Dorian was certain he made some kind of noise, but he certainly couldn’t identify it, his gazed locked into those golden eyes as Cullen’s warm tongue laved over his slit. Cullen’s other hand moved to squeeze his ass cheek, holding him close as he took more of Dorian into his mouth, eyes never wavering.

Finally with a cry Dorian threw his head back again, unable to take that searing look any longer. Cullen hummed, his hand moving from Dorian’s shaft to his balls as he took more of his length into the wet heat of his mouth. Dorian’s legs trembled and he swallowed hard, his fingers groping until they found the soft tumble of Cullen’s curls, clutching desperately. Cullen pulled off of Dorian’s dick with a visceral wet pop, giving a chuckle as Dorian mewled in protest, his fingers pulling hard at golden curls.

“Dorian, unless you want me bald you might need to ease up a bit.” Cullen said still chuckling despite discomfort.

“You are a cruel, cruel man.” He loosened his fingers with effort and looked down the length of his own body to where Cullen knelt before him, his own cock leaking over bent legs as he smiled up at Dorian wickedly.

“I certainly can be, if that’s what you’d like.” Cullen replied, scarred lip pulling up into the smirk he wore when he defeated Dorian at chess, even when Dorian was cheating.

Dorian gaped, mind blanking as it overloaded with filthy possibilities. Before he could manage to articulate a single one of them Cullen reached out and pulled down his smalls, leaving Dorian completely bare. With another wicked look Cullen leaned forward and ran the flat of his tongue up the underside of his cock, making him moan.

“Cullen.” His voice was pleading but he wasn’t sure what it was he even wanted anymore. Cullen seemed sure enough though, rising and wrapping his arms tight around his waist, pulling Dorian close and pressing their lips together once more, his tongue delving slick and hot past his lips, eliciting another moan. They were close enough in height that when Cullen reached down between them he could easily wrap his hand around both of their cocks, pressing them together and stroking his rough hand over them. After a few moments of sweet torture he grabbed Dorian by the ass, shifting him back onto the edge of the bed, pressing him back against the soft silk of the duvet and moving to stand between Dorian’s thighs.

Dorian’s hands came up to clutch at Cullen’s back as that firm hand returned to work between them, wringing pleas and whimpers from Dorian’s lips, trapping the sounds against his own as they kissed, messy and desperate. Cullen’s hand was sliding more easily, spreading the wetness of their combined pre-come over their skin as his strokes grew stronger. Dorian wasn’t sure how much longer her would last, so hot and desperate did he feel, his skin grown too tight with overstimulation.

Cullen pulled back with a gasp, taking his hand away and closing his eyes for a moment as if to regain control. He looked down at Dorian again, and that same look of reverent longing was back, making him feel both utterly exposed and yet strangely protected. Cullen gently pressed his hand over Dorian’s chest, right above his heart, holding it there warm and comforting for a long moment.

“Stay there, I’ll be right back.”

Dorian watched him walk away, trying not to feel bereft, instead concentrating on the beautiful planes of Cullen’s muscled back, the tight curve of his ass and the strength of his legs. His skin was golden in the firelight, broken with scars and a smattering of freckles that Dorian found utterly charming. He moved out of Dorian’s line of sight after a few moments, so the mage lay back on the bed, staring at the pattern of the canopy, hands fisting into the covers to resist the urge to stroke himself. Cullen came back holding up a vial of oil with a triumphant smile, and Dorian laughed.

“I should have known the brave Commander would be prepared for any eventuality.” Dorian commented, earning a chuckle in return. Cullen walked to the bed, stopping when he stood between Dorian’s splayed thighs. The mage preened, he couldn’t help it, not with Cullen looking down at him as if he were a rare treasure. He bit his lip as Cullen ran a warm hand up his thigh, his thumb caressing the line of Dorian’s hip bone gently. He leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss against the same spot.

When Cullen looked up from the kiss, his eyes on Dorian’s were intent.

“Dorian,” he said softly, moving to kiss his way up Dorian’s belly, gentle and sweet, a delicate brush of soft skin against him. “I want to make love to you. I want to be inside you. Is that alright?”

Dorian wanted to scoff at _make love_ , at the gentle tone, at the sincerity of it all, to protect himself with a layer of teasing and irreverence. Faced with Cullen’s serious expression, beautiful and concerned in the shifting firelight, he could only nod. Permission granted, Cullen smiled and leaned down to suck gently at Dorian’s nipple, making him squirm frantically. Cullen moved to the other nipple, unhurriedly pulling Dorian apart with licks and bites.

“ _Kaffas_ Cullen, if you don’t fuck me I will set your hair on fire.” His threat might have been more intimidating if it hadn’t come out a desperate whine, but Cullen lifted his head with a grin.

“You know, you make a lot of threats about setting things on fire when you get worked up. Is this going to be an issue? I think the Inquisitor will object if you set the room on fire.” He kissed along Dorian’s jaw as he spoke before nibbling Dorian’s earlobe, teeth clicking over yet another gold hoop.

“The room is only in danger if you don’t hurry up and put your cock inside of me.” He managed a growl that time, and Cullen moan in response. He could feel Cullen’s breath hitch against his ear and smiled triumphantly. He lifted his head from Dorian’s neck, sliding his hand down over the smooth brown surface of his belly to softly stroke his dick.

“You have no idea what you do to me Dorian.” Cullen said, voice hushed as if he were making a confession, and Dorian bit his lip, unable to look away. Cullen kissed him again, softly, a mere brush of lips before pulling away, his hand disengaging to find the vial of oil.

“Shift up the bed for me love.” Cullen said, popping the vial open and pouring oil over his fingers before stoppering it again. Dorian turned over and crawled his way further up the bed, shamelessly swaying so that his ass was perfectly displayed before turning back around and reclining on the mound of pillows. Cullen was smiling lazily at him as he stroked oiled fingers over his cock. Dorian’s breath hitched at the site and his legs fell open a bit as if of their own volition.

“I know that was for my benefit, and I want you to know I appreciated it.” Dorian chuckled and crooked a finger at Cullen, who simply smiled and shook his head.

“I have things to take care of down here.” He said, smile turning wicked. He settled on the bed between Dorian’s legs, his muscular thighs bent and canted out, leaving Dorian with an incredibly clear view of his cock, hard and shiny with oil. Gentle hands urged Dorian’s knees up and apart, leaving him vulnerable and open. He tensed for a moment, but Cullen gave a soft hum of appreciation and stroked his un-oiled hand down the inside of Dorian’s thigh, his touch comforting and arousing.

“If anything I do doesn’t feel good, I want you to tell me right away so that I can stop.” Cullen’s face was sincere, his tousled blond curls falling delightfully over his forehead, his brows drawn together in concern.

“I promise you I’m not a blushing virgin, Cullen.” Dorian said, smiling fondly. To his surprise Cullen didn’t smile back, simply looked at him closely, as if he were a puzzle that Cullen wanted to solve.

“That doesn’t matter. I don’t want to hurt you, even on accident, and if I do, or I do anything you don’t like, I want to know immediately so that I don’t continue. I want your trust Dorian, and I want to give you mine in return.”

Dorian felt himself blushing, the most ridiculous reaction he could imagine considering they were both naked and his legs were spread wide on the bed, yet it was Cullen’s sincerity and kindness that made him blush like a maiden. He nodded again, at a loss for words, and Cullen smiled sweetly at him, making his chest ache. He closed his eyes then, laying back against the pillows, feeling a shudder pass through him as Cullen’s hand slid down his thigh to the curve of his ass.

One finger, well oiled, slid under his balls, pressing against his perineum, making him gasp before sliding down his cleft. He tensed as Cullen’s finger found his hole, pressing against the tight rim of muscle, turning his face to plant a gentle kiss on Dorian’s knee. Slowly, so very slowly, Cullen’s finger pressed into him, and Dorian couldn’t help the cry that escaped his lips. It had been so long since someone had touched him, so long since he’d known anything but self provided relief, it was nearly overwhelming to have just the one finger gently moving inside him. Cullen paused and Dorian lifted his head up.

“Don’t stop.” He managed to huff out before dropping his head back. Another kiss on his knee was his reward, and then that single finger began to slide in and out of him. Cullen was a patient man, keeping up a smooth rhythm, in and out, twisting and turning gently to open him up. Dorian was on the verge of demanding more when the pad of Cullen’s finger brushed against his prostate and words disappeared completely.

He needn’t have worried about making demands, because a second, gentle finger soon followed, carefully slipping past the resistance of his rim, circling and twisting gently to relax him. Every few moments those fingers brushed over his prostate and made him moan. He fisted his hands, clutching at the duvet to keep from touching his cock, knowing there was no way he’d last if he did. When a third finger entered him he could have sworn he actually saw stars blink before his eyes, the slight burn of the stretch simply heightening his pleasure instead of lessening it. He couldn’t stop himself from thrusting downward, wanting more, wanting to feel filled as deep as Cullen’s fingers would go.

“Cullen, please, please…” his voice nearly broke and he swallowed, too lost in pleasure to truly feel embarrassed. Apparently Cullen wasn’t far behind because with a groan he drew his fingers out, surging up between Dorian’s legs until his weight rested over the mage, his mouth claiming Dorian’s in a fierce, possessive kiss.

Dorian spread his legs, lifting his knees shamelessly to give Cullen better access, earning a moan against his lips. Cullen’s mouth left his as his hand groped to find the oil again. Impatient and nearly desperate with desire Dorian rutted up against Cullen, their cocks rubbing against each other making Cullen’s eyes shut momentarily. Cullen pulled back, popping the cork off the vial a bit violently, pouring a thin stream of oil directly over his cock, making Dorian catch his breath at the sheer desire the site elicited. Cullen put the cork back in as he bit his lip, his control obviously wearing thin. He tossed the vial gently away and began to smooth the oil over his straining dick.

When his length glistened with oil he settled forward between Dorian’s legs, one arm braced next to Dorian’s shoulder, the other guiding the head of his cock between his ass cheeks. Cullen looked down directly into Dorian’s eyes.

“Are you ready love?” He asked, breathless.

“Yes, _amatus_.” The word slipped out and Dorian didn’t care, _couldn’t_ care as he felt the broad, smooth head of Cullen’s cock pressed against his entrance. As Cullen slowly slid in and filled him up, Dorian cried out with a near sob of relief to finally be filled as he had wanted for so long. His legs wrapped tight around Cullen’s hips, his arms encircling his back. Cullen pressed in close, brushing wet, open mouthed kisses against Dorian’s lips as he moved inside of him. The pace was slow, but there was no hesitancy, only smooth, sure thrusts that made Dorian’s breath hitch and his throat tighten with choked sobs.

Cullen’s hand snaked between them as he arched his back just enough to wrap his fingers around Dorian’s cock. His hand was still slick with oil, mixing with the pre-come leaking from Dorian’s tip to let Cullen’s hand stoke him easily, fingers pressing tight as he gave a firm tug. Dorian’s moan of pleasure was so loud it might have verged on a scream. Cullen’s lips moved across his jaw, before reaching Dorian’s ear, nibbling on the lobe again, the pace of his thrusts increasing as his hand moved faster on Dorian’s cock.

“Dorian, I love you.” The words were soft in his ear, barely more than a breath, but something inside him released to hear them, and his body arched up, the muscles of his back and stomach clenching tight as his orgasm washed over him, come spilling hot and thick through Cullen’s fingers onto his belly. Dorian sobbed, lost to everything but that rushing moment of pleasure, the wet heat of tears slipping down his temples and into his hair. His ass clenched tight around Cullen’s length and Cullen thrust deep into him, hips pressed tight against his thighs, a guttural moan accompanying the feeling of him pulsing inside Dorian as he came.

Things were a bit hazy after that, Dorian’s mind refused to focus, simply drifting in a cloud of pleasant sensations - the shivering aftershock of his orgasm, the strange but pleasant feeling of Cullen growing soft inside him, the silky texture of golden curls against Dorian’s fingertips. It took him a few moments to realize that Cullen was speaking to him, breath warm against his ear.

“Mmm, what?” He asked, eliciting a chuckle from Cullen.

“I asked if you were alive down there.”

“Oh… hmm… ask me again in a few moments.” Cullen laughed again, before very gently shifting to pull himself out, despite a protesting noise from Dorian whose limbs had no desire to move into a different position.

“I’ll be right back, I’m going to get us cleaned up.”

Dorian let his arms flop back onto the bed, waving one hand almost bonelessly at Cullen. He could feel Cullen’s seed slipping out of him, and it was a strange mixture of slightly arousing yet also a bit uncomfortable. Dorian was too tired to decide which sensation was stronger. Cullen returned shortly with a soft towel to wipe the semen off of his belly, and gently from between his legs. Dorian smiled at him lazily, appreciating the care. He couldn’t remember the last time one of his lovers had shown him that kind of tender attention. He shoved that thought away before it could distract him from the very real lover at hand.

“I don’t suppose I could convince you to move long enough that we could get under the covers instead of over them?” Cullen asked, smirk back in place as he looked down at the mage, but his eyes were soft.

Dorian huffed in annoyance but rolled over, allowing Cullen to divest the bed of some of the excess pillows, and pull the duvet back to reveal the smooth cotton sheets beneath. Cullen slipped into the bed and then pulled Dorian back against his chest. There was a bit of enthusiastic wiggling and sounds that Dorian would absolutely deny were giggles, the finally they were settled, his back pressed to Cullen’s chest. One of Cullen’s arms was tucked beneath a pillow with Dorian’s head cradled against his shoulder while the Commanders’ other arm curled over Dorian’s chest possessively.

Dorian smiled to himself at the idea of Cullen being possessive, sleepy and contented as he pressed kisses against the back of Dorian’s head.

“Dorian?” Cullen’s voice was rough but soft, warm and comforting against his utterly demolished hair.

“Mmm?” Words were entirely too much work, he wasn’t sure how Cullen was even managing to form the syllables of his name.

“What does _amatus_ mean?” Dorian’s eyes flew open from their sleep heavy state, muscles tensing and heart racing. Damnit, Cullen wasn’t supposed to actually pay attention to what he was saying in the throes of passion. “You said it earlier in the orchard, and then again tonight.”

Cullen’s hand stroked down Dorian’s arm, gentle and soothing, twining his fingers with Dorian’s before wrapping tight again around his chest. Dorian took a deep, trembling breath, caught in a moment of deep uncertainty.

 _Dorian, I love you._ He’d heard similar things panted in stolen, heated moments, but none said with the breathy, near worshipful tone his memory provided. He had Cullen tonight, but in the light of day with the madness of the masquerade driven off by the glare of harsh sunlight, would he feel the same? Dorian swallowed around a growing lump in his throat. Cullen simply lay patiently behind him, occasionally planting another soft kiss against the back of his head, or stroking his thumb over Dorian’s hand.

“It means… beloved.” Dorian confessed softly. He felt a shiver run down his spine as Cullen tensed slightly against him. _Maker why did I say that?_ He questioned frantically, already thinking of excuses to extricate them both from the awkwardness of his own creation.

“Good.” Cullen said softly, this time leaning over to plant a kiss against Dorian’s bare shoulder. “I love you too.”

Cullen was asleep mere moments later, leaving Dorian wide awake and reeling, his chest tight and warm. He let out a soft, slightly hysterical laugh and closed his eyes. Sleep was long in coming, but he didn’t mind at all.

* * *

Cullen woke to the smell of something sweet and delicious, his arm asleep and a heavy weight pressed against his chest and shoulder. There was a feeling of movement and he opened his eyes to see the Inquisitor perched on the end of his bed with a tray that held two plates stacked with food. He blinked several times, but she simply remained kneeling on the bed, expression inscrutable, rather like a large, white haired cat. When she grinned at him, showing off sharp canines, it did nothing to dispel the impression.

“I thought you locked the door last night, so that strays couldn’t get in.” Cullen blinked down at Dorian, whose head accounted for the weight on his chest and shoulder. Dorian’s cultured voice was rough with sleep and amusement. Cullen was reminded that Dorian’s sense of humor often verged on the inappropriate - the situation at hand surely counted.

“Oh he did.” Dust said, voice softly amused. “But locked doors haven’t stopped me in years. You might want to try some kind of warding next time.”

“Inquisitor, you picked the lock to my door? What in the Void for?” Cullen was starting to suspect he was actually still asleep, and that the Fade had a new form of demon - demons of mischief.

“I brought you breakfast.” She said, pale eyes wide with a surprisingly convincing level of innocence. “Fasting has begun for the court, but luckily Josie made it clear I’m not Andrastian, so you can thank the Creators for this meal.”

Dust gestured at the tray and Dorian shifted to eye it with interest. Cullen followed suit. There were some of the round _tostadas_ that were slathered in butter, with little cups of the orange preserves, some of the fried _churros_ that Dust was so fond of, milky coffee, and sweet lemon muffins. Cullen’s stomach growled and Lavallen grinned at him before crawling back off the bed.

She sauntered over to the door, pulling it open and looking back over her shoulder. Cullen was reaching for a muffin when Dust caught his eye again, something about her expression freezing him in place.

“Oh and Commander? You might want to remember that not only do locked doors not keep me out, but I’m very skilled with poisons.”

Dorian squawked a protest around a mouth full of toast and sent a shivering blast of ice that bounced off the closed door as Dust slipped out with a dark laugh. Dorian swore in Tevene.

“I cannot _believe_ her!” He said, after finally swallowing his food. Cullen leaned down and picked up both mugs of coffee before they could spill, handing one to Dorian. “I’m sorry Cullen, I have no idea what’s come over her.”

Cullen just smiled, and then before he knew it he was laughing, the image of Dust as a white cat, tail twitching as she guarded her little black kitten, settling firmly into place in his head.

“I think she’s come down with a case of friendship, Dorian.” The mage blinked, obviously disconcerted. “I don’t mind, I think it’s sweet.”

Dorian looked aghast.

“Lavellan just threatened to break into your room and poison you, and you think it’s _sweet_?” Cullen chuckled again at the incredulous tone, and shrugged. Then he reached out and ran his fingers through Dorian’s delightful mess of black hair, enjoying the feel of it between his fingers. Dorian swatted his hand away with a growl of annoyance, and the image of the black kitten popped back into his head again.

He laughed until Dorian finally kissed him quiet, lips sweet with fried dough, and breakfast was quickly forgotten.

* * *

 When they left Antiva City a week later they took with them several valuable trade agreements, a tentative truce with the Crows, enough coffee and wine to supply Skyhold for a year, and an Antivan chef hired from their La Casa de Hessarian. Dorian left short one pair of small clothes they never _did_ find again, with Cullen’s lucky coin nestled in his robes on a silver chain, right next to the heart that belonged to the Lion of Skyhold.


End file.
